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TECHNIQUE 



OF THE 



PHOTOPLAY 



SECOND EDITION 



BY 

EPES WINTHROP SARGENT 



PUBLISHED BY 

THE MOVING PICTURE WORLD 

17 MADISON AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY 









Copyright in the United States, 1913 

Copyright in Great Britain, 1913 

Copyright in Canada, 1913 

by , 

Chalmers Publishing Company 

New York 



All Rights Reserved 



©CI.A35076'4 n 



Contents 



I. The Photoplay 

Told in action instead of words — a distinct literary form- 
requisites of a writer — not all may achieve success. 

II. A Visit to a Theater 

Technical terms — the value of a title — the reel — stage 
terms — leader — inserts — visio ns — disso Ives — cu t-backs — 
matches — masks — night scenes. 

III. Producing the Photoplay 

Going the rounds — the rejection slip — causes for rejec- 

- tions — giving plenty of time — reconstruction — reproduction. 

IV. Tools of the Trade 

What is required — the proper paper — necessity for type- 
writing — envelopes — manuscript record — mailing the 
script — things to be avoided. 

V. The Form of the Photoplay 

The three divisions of the photoplay — the synopsis — the 
cast — the action — the need for a brief synopsis — synopses 
only — the scene plot. 

VI. The Plot of Action 

Necessity for orderly arrangement — impossible to go back 
— introducing and identifying the characters — the start 
and -finish important. 

VII. Leaders and Inserted Matter 

Importance of careful work — Leaders vs. Letters — tele- 
grams, newspaper clippings — pictorial inserts — need for 
variety — the "leaderless" script. 

VIII A Study of the Synopsis 

The vital importance of the synopsis — the great appeal 
to the editor — the opportunity for literary style — how to 
condense and retain the story. 



IX. Condensing the Script 

Keeping the action short — aim to tell much in few words 
— the reason for terseness — needless explanation — by-play 
and the real action. 

X. Plot Formation 

Incident is not plot — the story must have an object — the 
happy ending — only one leading character — the need for 
struggle—sources of plots. 

XI. Evolving a Plot 

Deriving plots from nothing — from the title — from a start 
— from a climax — knowledge of the subject necessary. 

XII. Developing the Plot 

Possibilities of the plot — getting the plot on paper — the 
picture eye — do not be afraid to change — watch for situ- 
ations — the increasing interest. 

XIII. Putting in the Punch 

What the punch is — the three sorts of dramatic punch — 
raising the commonplace to the dramatic — relation of 
punch to plot — the comedy punch. 

XIV. The Cut-back 

Value of the cut-back — used to stop gaps and cover breaks 
— used to maintain suspense — how to handle — the dra- 
matic cut-back — the comedy cut-back. 

XV. Values and Emphasis 

The emphasis of action — of situation — of acting — through 
busts — emphasizing leaders in action — relative values of 
the players — placing scenes. 

XVI. . The Dramatic Story 

Easier than comedy to most persons — crime and violence 
not in themselves dramatic — death not always dramatic — 
heart interest makes the strongest appeal — things to avoid. 

XVII. The Comedy Story 

Difficult to write — idea and action must both be humorous 
— developing the idea in comedy action — avoid ridicule — 
personal afflictions not comedy material. 

XVIII. The Trick Picture 

Limited demand for the trick picture story — basis of trick 
work — stop camera — back turning — accelerated speed — 
double exposure — do'uble printing. 



XIX. The Multiple-reel 

The series story — the preparation of the script — how to 
break into parts — numbering the scenes — the synopsis. 

XX. Adaptations 

Adaptations not desired — studio staff is better equipped to 
write these scripts through their knowledge of just what 
is required — preparing for adaptation. 

XXI. The Talking Pictures 

How they are made — the limitations — timing the picture — 
range of subjects — their future. 

XXII. Copyright and the Copyright Story 

What copyright is — what protection afforded — manuscript 
not copyrightable — what may and may not be taken from 
the copyrighted story. 

XXIII. Censorship of Films 

The National Board of Censorship — police censorships — 
what is forbidden, and why — when crime is permissible. 

XXIV. The Stolen Story 

Do Editors steal stories? A frank discussion of a ques- 
tion you are bound to ask — how duplications occur. 

XXV. YOU AND THE EDITOR 

A few hints on how to sell to advantage — your attitude 
toward the editor — the slight value of personal pull — 
querying manuscript — lost scripts. 

XXVI. Self Criticism 

Difficulties of self-criticism — lack of proper perspective — 
interest in the subject — value of delayed judgment. 

XXVII. How to Study 

The value of practise — the need for study — the theater as 
a schoolroom — self criticism — the value of advice. 

XXVIII. The Unasked Question 

Things you will want to know explained in detail. 

XXIX. Technical Terms 

Terminology of the studio — definitions of studio phrases — 
new meanings given words in common use. 

XXX. Complete Action 



INTRODUCTION TO SECOND EDITION 

It is less than eighteen months since the first edition was placed 
in the market, following serial publication in the columns of 
The Moving Picture World, but those eighteen months have been 
marked by great changes in photoplay needs and construction. 
Then the cut-back was merely a device for avoiding the showing 
of unpleasant or prohibited action; now it figures importantly in 
the development of the story. The "punch," too, was then a 
thing unnamed, though the punch has always been the requisite 
of the real story. The past year has also seen the acceptance of 
the multiple-reel as a regular release instead of an occasional 
novelty. 

These and minor changes have rendered it expedient to issue a 
completely new volume under the old title. With the exceptions, 
noted above there is little herein contained that may not be 
found in the first edition, but all matters are treated in greater 
detail and an effort has been made to teach rather than to set 
forth the rules, and leave the writer to make his own application 
of the same. Instead of one there are four complete sample 
manuscripts, for two of which we are indebted to the Lubin 
Manufacturing Company and to Lawrence S. McCloskey, their 
Editor-author, and in addition there are many examples in ex- 
planation of certain developments. 

An effort has been made to set forth clearly all of the matters 
treated, but this information will be useless to he who merely 
reads and does not study this little volume. It is not a magic 
wand to be waved over the typewritten page. It is a text book 
for the earnest student who seeks to make progress, and to all 
earnest students, who realize that the Photoplay is by no means 
the least of the branches of literary work, this volume is dedicated 
in the hope that they will find as much pleasure in the study of its 
pages as has the writer in preparing the work. 

New York, June, 1913. Epes Winthrop Sargent. 



Technique of the Photoplay 



CHAPTER I. 

THE PHOTOPLAY 

Told in action instead of words — a distinct literary form — 
requisites of a writer — not all may achieve success. 

Although not technically correct, the simplest and most under- 
standable definition of the photoplay is that it is a story told in 
pictured action instead of being described in words. 

A series of incidents, closely connected, leading from a start 
to a definite ending, is a story when told in words. If it is told 
in dialogue form with appropriate action and gesture, it becomes 
a play. Done in action and gesture, but without words, it is a 
pantomime, but pantomime as it is understood on the stage, is 
not a photoplay. The pantomime of the stage employs a 
"language" of its own. Certain gestures mean certain things, 
and pantomime is told in a sort of sign language, not understood 
by many in America, but intelligible to most European theater- 
goers. Photoplay has no arbitrary gestures. 

The photoplayer who asks for food, stretches his hand toward 
the spread table and looks more or less appealing, according to 
the circumstances in which he finds himself. The pantomimist 
would open his mouth and point down his throat with the first 
and second fingers of his hand. If it were drink that he desired, 
he would use the thumb, extending from his clenched fist, instead 
of his fingers. 

In the early days, copying the work of the French producers, 
this elementary language was employed in part in the making of 
the motion picture plays of that period, but as the art advanced, 
the stilted, arbitrary and unconvincing "language" of pantomime 
was replaced by natural gestures and actions. 

Photoplay, in a word, is not an adaptation of another branch of 
literary work, but is possessed of a technique all its own. There 
are, of course, the broad basic rules of literary construction and 
dramatic development, applicable to all forms of literature, 
whether written or verbally expressed, but in the past few years 
the art of writing photoplays has become possessed of a tech- 
nique that is applicable only to the writing of picture plays and 
to no other form. 



8 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

The photoplay itself is the newest of the literary arts. Pictures 
•of motion projected on the screen became a commercial proposi- 
tion only in 1895. Even then it was crude and undeveloped; 
the forty and fifty foot comedies bearing but slight resemblance 
to the multiple-reel stories of to-day. Many of the machines 
of that time could not take more than fifty feet of film at one 
time, and it was not possible to give more than the hint of a 
story in the fifty to sixty seconds the picture ran. 

As the interest in these short, sketchy subjects waned, the 
makers of projectors increased the capacity of their machines. 
One, two and three hundred feet could be taken at one time and 
this capacity was increased until there are now machines that 
can project three thousand feet of film without reloading and the 
ultimate capacity of the machine is merely a matter of the size 
of the magazine and the mechanical difficulties of handling a reel 
weighing more than twenty pounds. 

As the films grew in length, longer stories were produced and 
these more ambitious efforts called for the production of the 
picture under more careful management. In place of the man 
who had dropped into the business, regular stage managers were 
employed, recruited mostly from the stock and repertoire com- 
panies. For a time they wrote all their own plays; rehashes of 
the standard drama, adaptations from non-copyright books or 
the products of their own imagination. 

One of the Edison producers conceived the idea of making a 
western play with a large production and hired a small branch 
of a railroad for a Sunday. He told the players engaged that 
they could bring their friends, if they desired, and they could see 
"how pictures were made if they would "go in" a couple of scenes. 

He had not counted on such a host as showed up at the sta- 
tion at train time, but they all went along and "The Great Train 
Robbery" was made with the largest company of people that to 
that time had ever been employed in a dramatic picture play. 

This production marked the turning point of the photoplay. 
It was shown that the pictures were not yet dead, for one New 
York vaudeville theater restored the pictures to their old 
""headline" position, making the "Train Robbery" the featured 
attraction. 

The change brought a demand for stronger stories. It was 
seen that the studio force could not produce each week a suf- 
ficiently strong story, and outside writers were invited to con- 
tribute suggestions, for which they were paid from five to fif- 
teen dollars. These mere synopses were developed in the studio 
into scripts, since few of the writers possessed the knowledge 
of picture-making requisite to enable them to develop the script. 



THE PHOTOPLAY 9 

As the submission of manuscripts to the studios increased and 
it became apparent that the flood had just commenced, someone 
familiar with current and standard literature was employed to 
detect the impostor who sought to sell stories written by others, 
to read the submissions and select the good from the bad and in 
general to place his literary intelligence at the disposal of the 
other studio workers. Since their duties were in part editorial, 
and for want of a better title, they were known as Editors. 

The editors quickly saw that they could be better served if the 
writers were instructed in the details of picture making. They 
could not only plan their plots better, but suggest the layout 
of the scenes. The plot alone was seldom offered in such shape 
that the scenes were suggested and in order to plan the scenes 
intelligently, some knowledge of the methods of picture making 
and some hint as to exact form were needed. 

Instruction sheets, generally known as Form Sheets, were sup- 
plied without charge to all who asked, but this practise has been 
abandoned and the desire of the manufacturer is now to check in 
so far as possible the vast number of faulty scripts that pour 
into the studio in every mail. Most of the correspondence school 
courses are copied from or at least based on these old form 
sheets, but the work has been done by men not fitted by their 
own knowledge to combine the various sheets. 

These schools, through their methods of advertising, have done 
the business real harm in that the statements made to the effect 
that no skill or ability is needed to write plays has encouraged 
literally thousands of ignorant and incompetent persons to sub- 
mit their scripts and has given others, for whom there might 
have been hope, the fatal belief that writing photoplays is a sim- 
ple matter requiring no special qualification or preparation. 

This is a very grave error. There was a time when the idea, 
no matter how crudely presented, was eagerly sought, but that 
order has changed. The successful writer of the moment is as 
well equipped technically as the novelist or the dramatist. He 
writes in strict accordance with the rules of construction and he 
observes with care the hundred and one details that go to make 
the perfect script. 

It is entirely true that the gift of fluent literary expression is 
not required, and in this photoplay opens a field to many whose 
ideas are good, but who are unable to write flowing English, 
but there is demanded instead the knack, inherent or acquired, 
of thinking and writing in action, of planning effective situations 
instead of rounded sentences, of devising dramatic moments and 
periods of suspense instead of writing glowing narrative and 
brilliant description. 



10 



TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 



The first requisite in writing photoplay is imagination. With- 
out this trait none may hope to succeed. The trained fiction 
writer, can take an old plot and with graceful style and vivid 
word painting cause it to appear to be completely new, but in 
photoplay the plot is the foundation of success. Style cannot 
disguise the age of the idea, there must be some freshness to 
the plot ; some original twist or completely new development 
that renders the work acceptable. In this respect the photoplay 
writer is at a disadvantage beside the creator of fiction or even 
the producer of dramatic plays. 

Imagination, prolific and creative, is the first demand, but this 
must be supplemented by an ability to weigh the values of a situ- 
ation. The author of photoplays must be able to gauge his story 
so nicely that the interest of the spectator is held in growing 
tensity until the climax breaks. What the fiction writer must do 
in words, the photoplay writer must do with business and 
situation. 

In the years of development between 1909 and 1913, upward of 
ten thousand persons have sought to win success as photoplay 
writers. This is a conservative estimate. Some Editors place 
the figures at nearer 50,000. Some write one or two plays and 
give up in disgust when these do not sell. Others are more per- 
sistent, but of all who have made the venture there are not more 
than fifty persons outside the studios, who look to photoplay 
writing for their support or who are competent to gain a decent 
income from the writing of plays alone. 

The payment for photoplays is increasing steadily, but with it 
comes a demand for a grade of work commensurate with the 
higher payment. In magazine work the man who gets five cents 
a word is expected to write a vastly better story than the man 
who is paid but half a cent. It is the same in photoplay. 

The writing of photoplays, then, is no short cut on the road to 
success, nor is it a pastime lightly to be taken up when the spirit 
moves. It is not possible to read any book or course and at once 
write scripts that will sell. Success is to be gained, save in 
exceptional instances, only through close study, hard work and 
long practise. It is not possible to sell many if any scripts the first 
year, but photoplay writing is a pleasant avocation, if not a profit- 
able vocation, and careful study and hard work may lead to 
studio connections and good remuneration. The amateur of 
yesterday is the expert of today and without exception they are 
the ones who were willing to study and work hard. 



A VISIT TO A THEATER 1.1 



CHAPTER II. 



A VISIT TO A THEATER 

Technical terms — the value of a title — the reel — stage terms — 
leader — inserts — visions — dissolves — cut-backs — matches 
— masks — night scenes. 

Before we apply ourselves closely to the study of technique, 
let us first visit some photoplay theater and watch a subject run. 
It will help us to familiarize ourselves with some of the terms 
and give us an idea of the films. The photoplay theater is the 
real schoolroom of the man or woman who would write picture 
plays if only the visit is made with seeing eyes and not solely 
for the purpose of amusement. There is no more valuable in- 
struction to be had, for here we can see the successes and failures 
and can study out the causes of those triumphs or defeats. 

Before we go inside let's look at the lobby for a moment and 
study the posters. We have come with the fixed intention of 
entering. The poster display can neither attract us nor send us 
on our way, but the theater is on a busy thoroughfare and hun- 
dreds pass with a glance at the pictures. Some are attracted bv 
the title or the picture and stop to look, some of these pass on, 
others enter the theater. 

Some of the titles do not attract us. There is one that is seven 
words long. If we were hurrying past, the quick glance could 
never take in that title, and no matter how attractively it may 
be worded, we would not be induced to enter. Nor is it merely 
long and cumbersome. It takes up more than a third of the space 
that in other posters is given to the picture of some catchy scene 
from the play. There's another on the other side of the ticket 
box. The letters are twice the size of the other and yet they 
take up only about a sixth of the poster space. Just two words — 
Bessie Did — but the picture is that of a rather attractive looking 
girl, and we are glad that we are going inside that we may learn 
what it was she did. 

We've learned one thing already and we've not even bought 
a ticket. We have found that a title should be short, so as to be 
quickly read, and attractive so as to pique the curiosity and make 
the person reading the title want to see the picture. If we saw 
what it was that Bessie did from the picture on the poster, we 



12 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

know that we should not be so eager when we got inside, so we 
have also learned that the title must tell something about the 
picture, but not tell so much that we know all about the picture 
t>efore we see it on the screen. 

One poster announces that the story is in three parts and an- 
other says "Big six-reel show today." 

The reel is the spool on which the film is wound ; a cylinder of 
wood as wide as the film and about two inches through. On 
each side is a metal disc, about ten inches in diameter, to hold 
the film in place. That's one sort of reel, but a reel is also a 
rough standard of measurement. It is about a thousand feet of 
film, seldom less than 950 and never less than 850. If a manufac- 
turer releases or puts on the market four reels a week, it means 
that on four set days he publishes about a thousand feet of film. 
The exchanges which hire the reels to the theaters, have standing 
orders for certain release days. They know they will get about 
one thousand feet of film instead of getting 500 this Friday and 
1,800 feet next Friday, so the reel is handy for them. On the 
other hand they contract with the theater to> rent it so many 
reels a day, and the manager knows that if he gets three reels 
his performance will run about an hour, since it takes from fif- 
teen to eighteen minutes to run one thousand feet of film at 
proper speed. The reel is a handy measure for him, because he 
"knows that three reels means about three thousand feet. 

That a subject is in three parts means that it is in three reels 
or that it runs about three thousand feet or one hour. Part 
sounds better than reel and is better understood, so part is used 
in the case of a story that runs more than one reel. 

A split reel means that the thousand feet has been divided or 
split up between two or more subjects, and we speak of split reel 
or half reel comedies or dramas to indicate some play that does 
not run the full thousand feet. 

Perhaps a part of the split reel may be given to an educational 
subject. That is a general term for almost anything that is not 
a play. It may be a picture of the "Bay of Naples" or an X-Ray 
picture of the human stomach ; it may be made in China or 
Chicago or right outside the theater door. There was a time 
when the educational was merely used to fill out the reel with, 
but now they have a value of their own. The educational and the 
animated weekly that is merely a newspaper in motion pictures, 
are things with which we have no present concern. The film 
makers have special photographers who travel about getting 
these, and we cannot sell tips on the news yet, though this may 
•come in time. 



A VISIT TO A THEATER 13 

Passing the door we'll peep into the projection room and look 
at the projection machine. This is nothing more than a magic 
lantern with a mechanism for passing the film in front of the 
lense and bringing it to a halt at the exact moment that the shut- 
ter of the lense is open. The movement of the film is continuous 
from the magazine or fireproof box that holds the film and it is 
continuous at the take-up or lower magazine, where it is wound 
on another reel after it has passed through the machine, but a 
simple device causes the film to be drawn down bit by bit so that 
just one frame or one of the thousands of pictures on a piece of 
film is at rest as the lense is uncovered. The machine is gener- 
ally turned by' hand, though a motor can be used, and if you'll 
notice you will see that the operator makes one revolution of the 
crank every second. Every turn of the crank passes one foot 
of film through the machine, so we learn that in picture making 
a second is a foot and a foot is a second. That's about all the 
machine can teach us; let us find a seat and watch the screen. 
The picture that was running is about over, but a new one will 
start in a moment. Here it comes. 

But at the start it is not a picture at all. It is an ornamental 
frame enclosing the name of the picture, the name of the maker 
and perhaps the name of author or producer or both. That 
seems to stay steady for a few seconds, but it doesn't. It was on 
the screen for ten seconds, so ten feet or about 150 different pic- 
tures of the title were shown in that time. Ten feet of title are 
used because it has been figured out that it takes the slow read- 
ers about ten seconds to spell out the title. 

Now the first real picture is on the screen. It's a bachelor's 
den with the hero sitting in an easy chair smoking. As it is not 
a real room, but made from painted scenery, we speak of it as a 
set and because it shows a room and not some place outdoors it 
is an interior. Were it out of doors it would be an exterior. 
Made with scenery it would be an exterior set, but if it was really 
outdoors it would be a location. 

The scene in the room only lasts a few seconds, though it 
seems longer, because that is one of the odd things about the 
silent picture. We were watching the bachelor in his den and in 
just one-sixteenth of a second we are in the library in the hero- 
ine's home. The girl goes to the table and sits down to write. 
We wonder what it is she is writing about and, as though in 
reply, a written letter blots out the library. It is just as though 
we read the letter over her shoulder. Presently the letter van- 
ishes and we see the library again, but now we know that the 
girl's name is Jane, that the man's name is Harry and that Jane 
is going to the country because her father wants her to stay and 



14 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

meet an English lord whom he is anxious for her to marry. 
Jane doesn't want to marry him because she loves Harry, so she 
is running away. All of this was in the letter. 

If it were just left to pictures alone we could, after a while, 
get the idea that Jane went to the country to get away from the 
noble suitor and that she loves Harry, but a million feet of pic- 
tures could not tell us that her name was Jane or that his was 
Harry. It has been done in twenty seconds in that letter. 

When the picture was being put together in the factory, that 
library scene was all one straight piece of film, but at one point 
there was a mark that said "Insert letter No. i," so a girl cut 
the piece of film in two and cemented the letter in, or inserted it, 
so that anything belonging to a scene that is not in the photo- 
graph of the scene is called an insert 

Now Jane calls her maid and gives her the letter. The maid 
leaves the room. If this had been made five years ago we would 
have had a picture of the maid leaving Jane's house, another in 
which she is seen walking along the street and a third where she 
comes to Harry's house, but it was found that it looks just as 
real if the maid leaves Jane's library and comes into Harry's 
den, though we need one of those exterior scenes to show that 
Harry and Jane do not live in the same house. We might see 
her leaving Jane's house or coming to Harry's ; since she comes 
to Harry's house we have an idea that this is done because the 
front of Harry's house will be used again and Jane's home will 
not be shown from the outside. 

The fourth scene is the same as that first one, where we saw 
Harry sitting smoking. The letter is brought him and he starts 
to read it. There it comes on the screen again, but this time 
we barely have time to read the "Dear Harry" when it is gone 
again. We know what is in the letter, so just a flash about three 
feet long is used. 

Now the room vanishes and there comes on the screen some 
printed words that read: "The next day. Harry helps Jane to 
escape." We are going to see that he aids her escape, but we can't 
tell whether the escape is that same day or weeks afterward. 
There might, of course, have been a large calendar on the wall. 
In the first scenes it showed a large 10 and now Harry tears off 
a leaf and shows that it is the next day, but the passage of time 
is better told in print, and so a leader is used. Leader is also 
called sub-title and interscription, but leader is preferred. 

The picture runs on. Jane has gone to the country and Harry 
stays home. Sitting in his room he thinks of her and as he does 
she seems to appear before him, at flfst just a shadowy outline, 



A VISIT TO A THEATER 15 

but gradually growing more distinct, until it seems as though 
she was as real as Harry himself. Then she slowly fades away 
and Harry realizes with a sigh that it was just a day dream. 

Jane has been dissolved into the picture and out again. Harry 
sinks back in his chair again and wonders what Jane is doing. 
Once more we see Jane, but this time we see not only Jane, but 
the orchard where she is sitting. This time Jane's figure is not 
so large, but the picture takes up almost a quarter of the screen. 
She comes and goes just as she did in the other appearance, but 
this time it is a vision. The vision differs from the dissolve in 
that a vision is distinct from the scene while in a dissolve what- 
ever is shown is dissolved into the scene already showing. The 
first time we saw just Jane in the den. Now we see Jane in the 
orchard, so it is a vision since Jane and the orchard are quite 
apart from Harry in his den. 

The next scene also shows Harry's room, but this time he is in 
evening dress because he is going to take dinner with Jane's 
father. That's why there was just a one word leader flashed 
on the screen that said "Later." Without that leader it would 
have seemed that Harry, sitting in the chair in a smoking jacket, 
suddenly sprang up and by the mere act of jumping had changed 
bis clothes. It was the same room. The only thing changed 
would be Harry's clothes, because there would be no pause be- 
tween the two scenes, so we break them with a leader. The 
leader only runs three seconds, but it acts like the drop curtain in 
a theater. 

A moment later we get another sort of leader. Harry comes 
to Jane's home and meets the Count. We can guess that the old 
man says that this is Jane's husband to-be, for Harry stiffens 
up and a leader flashes on the screen. This time it is in quota- 
tion marks and says, "She will marry only an American." 

All the other leaders have been between scenes, but this is 
right in the middle, so it is known as a "cut-in leader,' 1 because 
it is cut into the scene. 

As the play runs along we find that the Count is not a noble- 
man at all, but just a thief who is after the jewels that he knows 
Jane's father keeps in the safe in the library. He coaxes the 
father to show him the jewels. As the safe is about to be locked, 
the Count jostles him and the key falls to the floor. The Count 
picks it up and makes a wax impression of it before he returns it. 

We know that the wax impression was made because just as 
the Count started to rise it seemed as though the camera had 
been moved right up to the Count, so close that the lense would 
take in only his hands working with the cake of wax. This hap- 
pened just as we were wishing that they would come closer so we 



16 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

could see what the Count was doing. We knew it was something 
important, but we could not quite make it out. In the bust 
picture the hands were so large we could see every movement 
Of course it might have been explained in a leader that "The 
Count makes an impression of the key," but the bust is more 
interesting because it is a picture and not a leader. 

Properly speaking, a bust is a portrait showing the head and 
shoulders only, but bust is more definite than close %p, which is 
sometimes used, for close up might also mean a full picture, 
but with the camera closer to the scene. 

Harry knows what the Count is up to and when the false key 
is made and the Count is about to open the safe, he bursts into 
the room with Jane's father. The Count is unmasked and driven 
out of the house. In revenge he plans to abduct Jane. Harry 
learns about it too late to prevent it, but he goes tearing off in 
his car to the rescue. The father also learns of the plot and 
follows. It's a pretty lively three minutes that comes next. We 
see the Count rushing along, we see Harry following and then 
the Count and then Harry and then the father, then Harry and 
then the Count. There is not more than a second or two in each 
flash, but together they tell the story of the chase and its varying 
advantage until we are sitting almost on the edge of the seat. 

Just a couple of pictures would have told the story, but using the 
cut-back or switch-back greatly heightens the suspense and keeps 
the story moving. 

In the end Harry saves Jane from the Count and gets her 
father's consent to their marriage. It's the same old happy end- 
ing and we are glad of it. Now comes a tail-piece, a ten foot 
strip that announces that the picture has been passed by the 
National Board of Censorship. We are rather surprised, for sev- 
eral actions in this picture are among those barred by the Cen- 
sors, but it has the Censorship tag, so it is all right. 

The next picture is something of a novelty. A child is talking 
to an old man and points to a scar on his head. He smiles and 
begins to speak. A leader says "Once upon a time — " and we see 
the village common in war time and the young men ready to go 
to the front. There is not an abrupt change to the next scene, 
but the common dissolves into a scene in camp, this in turn dis- 
solves into another picture and so until the story is done. Some- 
how it seems more like a story than it would have with each 
scene changing abruptly. We can gather that it is very much like 
that dissolve or the vision, but this time it is a fade because the 
whole scene changes. 

In the next reel a girl goes from, the library into the hall. We 
see her leave the room with her right hand on the knob and 



PRODUCING THE PHOTOPLAY 1/ 

the door opening toward her. In the hall her left hand is on 
the knob and the door is still opening toward her, though now 
it should be the other way. It is a blunder on the part of the 
director. He should have made a match on those scenes so that 
one corresponded to the other. 

Later on the girl is in the fields and looks through a pair of 
binoculars. As the glass goes to her eyes we see a section of the 
country she is looking at ; not a whole frame, but a part as though 
we were looking through a figure 8 laid on its side. We don't 
stop to think that it is not true to life. We think, almost, that 
we are looking through those glasses ourselves. A mask has been 
used to give the effect, and the scene was taken with that between 
the lense and the film. 

Several of these scenes are toned, or tinted, some of them blue 
or light green for night and others a yellow for lamplight, but we 
notice one thing, they are pretty, but the photography is poor in 
every one of the toned scenes. That's because a night picture is 
underexposed, otherwise it would not differ in the least from a 
daylight picture. The toning helps a little ; indeed some pictures 
not purposely underexposed, are toned to get a better effect, but 
it can never equal the good black and white. 

But we've found out what most of the technical terms mean. 
Let's get out. 



CHAPTER III. 

PRODUCING THE PHOTOPLAY 

Going the rounds — the rejection slip — causes for rejection — 
giving plenty of time — pricing the script — reconstruc- 
tion — production. 

Suppose that you make one more trip before you settle down 
to work. Reduce yourself to a few sheets of typewritten paper, 
crawl into a manila envelope and with a return ticket in the 
shape of a stamped and addressed envelope, become a script and 
make the rounds. 

You are the first manuscript of a very new author. You have 
your faults — serious ones — but you're not such a bad manuscript, 
at that. At the same time it was a mistake to send you off to the 
Moon Manufacturing Company. Your author should have known 



18 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

that the Moon did only western stories. You're a polite little 
drama of eastern society life. You may be all right in your place, 
but the Moon studio is not your place. Ice water may command 
fabulous prices in the place of eternal torment, but no Esquimau 
is going to pay a dollar a glass for ice water along in the middle 
of January. The secret of successful selling is to send the wares 
where they are wanted. Your author should have known that. 

You get to the Moon studio in the morning mail along with 
about a hundred other scripts. The Editor's assistant takes your 
overcoat off and puts you on the desk with the others. At the 
Moon the Editor does all the reading and after he has things 
started for the day he begins to read. 

You're a young and rather innocent script and you blush when 
the Editor says several very naughty cuss words in rapid suc- 
cession, but you don't altogether blame him. He has come on a 
script with three of the middle pages lightly gummed together. 
You know that the Editor knows this was done "to see if the 
stories really are read." You are glad your author did not carry 
out his plan of sewing a couple of pages together for the same 
purpose. 

The Editor sniffs at the next script. It is a pretty little thing, 
done with a two color ribbon, all the leaders and letters in red. 
The editor says he wishes that the author would put his time into 
his work instead of painting pictures with a bi-chrome ribbon, 
and back the script goes into the envelope. It might have made 
a real Moon story if there had been any real story there. 

The third script is just glanced at. It is written with a pen 
and the Editor has no time to puzzle out the writing with ninety 
odd typewritten scripts waiting action. It may be a good story, 
but most people who can write good stories know enough to have 
them typed. 

The next is a gem, lots of action, plenty of great big scenes, 
you are rather surprised to see it slip into the return envelope. 
"Not so bad," murmurs the Editor, "but where does that guy think 
we're going to borrow a submarine and a battleship in the Rocky 
Mountains I" 

And so it goes, one story after another goes into its envelope 
and with each your hopes grow less. Your turn comes. Just a 
line or two and your synopsis tells your utter unfitness for that 
studio. Back you go with a rejection slip and the author won- 
ders just what it means. 

The slips all follow the same general form. The Editor re- 
grets that you are not available for present needs and hopes that 
your author will try again. He is careful to state that rejection 



PRODUCING THE PHOTOPLAY 19 

does not imply lack of merit. It is rather a confusing statement 
to a man who does not know. You cannot tell your author that 
it is a simple form that covers every case and that it is sent to 
everyone, good and bad alike. It is neither encouraging nor dis- 
couraging. It is one of the most non-committal things in the 
world. 

But your author does not know this, so you lie on the desk 
while he consults with his friends. His friends all tell him you 
are a great story. They do not know a good story from a poor 
one, but that does not matter. It is easier to tell your author that 
you are great than to be drawn into an argument. Smith, who 
runs the photoplay theater, casts the deciding vote. He tells the 
author' that he only wishes that all the plays he gets were as good 
as that, and why are you not sent to the Planet? 

Off your author hurries to send you to the Planet with the 
statement that Mr. Smith, of the Unique, suggested them be- 
cause it is right in their style. The Planet Editor smiles a weary 
smile. He knows that Smith is thinking of the tickets he can 
sell your author. Smith doesn't know much more about unpro- 
duced scripts than your author does, but he is enough of a show- 
man to cry "Great !" instead of "Worthless !" 

That you happen to be for a man lead and the Planet prefers 
scripts that feature their leading women is something that doesn't 
bother Smith, but it does bother the Editor and you go home 
again. By now the author knows you must be good and you go 
right out again. 

This time you have the novel sensation of being read. Your 
synopsis looks rather attractive to the Constellation company and 
your action is glanced over. The Editor puts you back in your 
envelope. "I wish I had time to fix that up. It's not half bad." 

That's your epitaph there. You are not half bad, but you are 
not much more than half good and the Editor cannot spend a day 
getting you straightened out. 

You are turned down at the Bear because they have plenty of 
dramas and want only comedies, and you stay five weeks at the 
Lion company, most of the time in the pocket of a director who 
is trying to get the time and the courage to fix you up. Then 
your author writes a sharp letter and wants to know all about 
it, and the Editor tells the director that the author is yelling for 
his script and the director says to let the author have it. You 
stood a good chance, but your author spoiled it by being im- 
patient. By the time you have been the rounds your author 
forgets and sends you to the Bear again. This time they have 
all the comedy they need and want dramas. A director takes you 
around with him to read and gets a chance in a few days. 



20 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

"How much is it worth?" asks the Editor, pointing to your first 
page where your author has neatly typed the fact that you are 
offered for sale for $100. 

"Offer him ten dollars," suggests the producer with a laugh. 
"Any man that don't know better than to ask a hundred for a 
script like this will be glad to take anything." 

"Make it fifteen," suggests the Editor. "He'll learn after a 
while." Being a script and not a person you know that's because 
five or six years ago the Editor used to do the same thing and has 
a fellow feeling, perhaps, for your author. 

You go back into the director's pocket marked "Hold" and 
the author gets a letter making the offer and enclosing a release 
slip. This slip, stripped of its legal phrasing, is an assignment of 
copyright and all other rights and the flat statement that the 
author is the originator of the work. In the event of a proven 
theft it is also an admission that the signer has obtained money 
under false pretenses. The slip is returned signed and witnessed. 
Some companies might have sent a slip that must be sworn to 
before a notary. 

Notice that the copyright and all other rights pass to the com- 
pany. Possibly, being also a short story writer, you have re- 
served the fiction rights. In that case you will make no sale be- 
cause most companies want the right to the fiction form of the 
story since many magazines now use photoplay-fiction stories. 

The fiction rights are not worth much, at best. Photoplay 
audiences will accept the visualization of a story, but the gen- 
eral run of magazines do not want the Actionized photoplay be- 
cause they have found that only in magazines printing little else 
than this form of story will such matter be found acceptable. 

Some time ago Bannister Merwin arranged a test with the 
Munsey Company which printed some of his stories from the 
Edison photoplays. They were resented by many readers. 

This does not apply to the What Happened to Mary series, be- 
cause these were printed just before the photoplay was released. 

The check is sent and you have become the property of the 
company. You are rather glad of it. You have traveled thou- 
sands of miles and have spent from one day to six weeks in 
practically every studio in the country. 

Now the producer starts to reconstruct you. He takes your best 
scenes and builds up around these. He puts in the punch you 
have so sadly lacked, he builds up and he tears down. In some 
studios this reconstruction might have been made in the Editor's 
office, but the process is the same. The good idea is taken and a 
real story is built on the wreck of the old. 



PRODUCING THE PHOTOPLAY 21 

Now the property and scene plots are prepared. Plot is merely 
another name for list. The property plot is nothing more than a 
list of all the things needed in your production whether it be a 
safety pin or a gattling gun. Some properties the studio owns, 
others are borrowed or rented. 

The scene plot is the list of sets needed. Generally diagrams 
are made of the sets, either in free hand or to scale. In the latter 
way paper lightly ruled into squares is used. Each of these 
squares represents a square foot of space. At one point a line is 
drawn across six of these squares. This is known as the front 
line and corresponds to the footlights of the dramatic stage. The 
Editor knows that the lense his cameraman uses will just take 
in the six foot line if placed twelve and a half feet back of the 
line. Along the middle line of the six he measures off twelve and 
a half squares. A line drawn from this point through the sides 
of the six foot line and beyond will give a triangle that exactly 
corresponds to the angle of the lense. Anything within these 
lines is in the picture, anything outside is not. When the picture 
is to be taken these lines are laid down in some way, either by 
mentally marking the direction of the line, by nailing down strips 
of wood or running tape lines. The player who does not keep 
within these lines is said to fall out of the picture. 

While the property man is working over the property plot or 
"prop" list, the stage carpenter is planning the settings with the 
director, either using regular sets or having new scenes painted. 
The position of each piece of furniture is determined and a 
drawing made for each set, but not for each scene. 

The players are notified as to the costumes and wigs they will 
need. Street dress of today must be furnished by the player. 
The company supplies foreign costumes or the dress of another 
period. The players may be told something of the play, but 
some directors do not permit their people to know the plot and it 
is entirely possible for an actor to take the leading part in a play 
and not be able to more than vaguely guess at the story. 

When the first set is put in place and dressed to the satisfaction 
of the director, the players in the scenes in that set are called. 
This set may be that used for the first scene or for one in the mid- 
dle or toward the end. The scenes are not played in regular order 
but are put on to suit the conditions of the moment. The last 
scene may be played first and then scene two, but all the scenes 
in one set are played before that set is struck and another is set, 
set being both a verb and a noun. 

The players are rehearsed in one scene at a time and this may 
be gone through with once or ten times or a hundred until the 



22 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

director is satisfied. The players are given no parts but simply 
do what the director tells them to. 

When the scene is rehearsed to the satisfaction of the director, 
he gives orders to turn the camera. In a light studio the illumina- 
tion comes from mercury vapor tubes, arc lights or a combination 
of the two. In the daylight studio arc lights supplement the sun 
on cloudy days only. In the South and West the scenes are set 
on platforms in the open air, light cloth screens cutting off the 
sun when the light is too brilliant. 

The camera is provided with two boxes or magazines with vel- 
vet lined slots through which the film passes in or out. The film 
is much the same as that used in hand cameras save that it comes 
in strips two hundred feet long and only i^ inches wide. The 
actual picture, or frame, is only one inch wide and three-fourths 
of an inch high. The film passes from the top box, down through 
the camera into the lower box, each section being halted for an 
instant in front of the lense while the exposure is made. Six- 
teen pictures are made each second. 

In American production it is the aim of the director to keep his 
leading players as close to the front line as possible, and for prac- 
tical playing purposes the stage consists of a space six feet wide 
and about four feet deep. There all of the important action must 
occur so that the figures may be large and the expressions distinct 
This small stage makes it necessary to cut off the legs of the play- 
ers and sometimes the top of their heads. It is inartistic, but it 
is what is demanded, so the photographic stage holds all the action 
though, in exteriors scenes, especially, the actual stage may be 
vastly larger. 

The scene is played through before the camera and the next 
rehearsed and taken until all the scenes in that set are made. 
Then the players may rest while a new set is made or they may 
go out and take some of the outside scenes, appropriate loca- 
tions having been selected by the director's assistant. 

The exposed film is sent to the developing room where it is 
developed and one print made of each scene. In the meantime 
the leader room has had a list of all leaders and inserts. These 
are written, printed or painted as may be required and these are 
printed along with the other negative. From this first print the 
director or someone else joins up the print. Starting with the title 
the first scene is cemented on and the scenes added in their proper 
order, all inserts and cut-in leaders being put in their place. 

The first print, properly joined goes to the cutting room where 
the film is edited. Here the print is repeatedly run through the 
projector and the small details are made right. Scenes that are at 
fault are condemned and retakes are ordered. Loose ends are cut 



TOOLS OF THE TRADE 23 

out and leader is removed or added as circumstances may seem 
to require. The approved print goes back to the negative depart- 
ment where the negative is marked exactly to correspond with the 
first print and sent to the printing room where the necessary 
number of prints are made from each piece. These are sent to 
the joining room where girls cement or splice the scenes together, 
after which the reels are inspected and if properly joined are 
shipped to the exchanges. 

You have ceased to be a manuscript. You have become a film. 



CHAPTER IV. 

TOOLS OF THE TRADE 

What is required — the proper paper — necessity for typewrit- 
ing—envelopes — manuscript record — mailing the script — 
things to be avoided. 

Having gained some knowledge of technical terms and an idea 
of studio methods, we are ready to turn our attention to the mak- 
ing of the script, but a good workman needs good tools and while 
the tools of the photoplay trade are few, it is important that they 
be good. 

A manuscript written on butcher's wrapping paper in red ink 
may be a literary gem, but as a rule it's unlikely that the script 
will repay reading and so it will be passed over. It is argued that 
the man who knows how to write a good script knows also how 
to give that script the proper attention. So small a thing as a 
paper too thin may spoil the chances of acceptance. 

Today a typewriter is the first essential. When the demand for 
good stories greatly exceeded the supply, the editors were willing 
to read the script so long as it was written in ink and with a 
fairly legible hand. There was always the hope of finding a new 
idea, but now that time is passed and it is very logically argued 
that the man who does not know enough to have his manuscript 
typed does not know enough to hit upon a good idea. 

It is possible to have the manuscript typed by some professional 
stenographer for ten or fifteen cents a page, but it is far better to 
do your own work and it is by no means as difficult as it seems to 
a person who has never tried. 

It is recommended that a machine be hired for a time. Every 
city has rental agencies where a machine may be hired for five 
dollars for three months. Generally this first deposit may apply 



24 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

to the purchase price if you later wish to buy the machine for 
cash or on time payments. This machine will be plenty good 
enough to learn upon and when you are really proficient, you can 
make a choice of a new machine or get a better "rebuilt" machine. 

All makes of machines are good provided that you get a ma- 
chine that in new condition costs $50 or more. Most of the good 
ones cost $100. Visit a rental agency, pick out a machine that ap- 
peals to you. Try it for a time and if you do not like the make 
take it back and get another until you find one that does suit you. 
It is recommended that one with visible writing be selected, but 
it is not so important whether it have one or two shift keys. The 
one shift keyboard is simpler but the use of two shifts is not 
found confusing by most writers. The single shift carries an 
extra row of keys, and but two instead of three characters to 
each key. 

The main thing in learning is to avoid developing bad habits. 
When you get the machine get a book on the touch system. This 
will enable you to use more than one finger on each hand and to 
watch your work instead of the keys. The touch system is the 
only one for writers and you will develop proficiency in a short 
time if you keep at it. 

Use black record ribbons. There are two kinds of ribbons, 
record and copying. You will have no use for the copying ribbon. 
That is for use where the typed letters are copied into a letter 
book with wet sheets. The ink is softer and smears badly. Get 
the record and use nothing else. The record ribbon will not last 
so long, but the cost is comparatively slight and it is worth half 
a dollar every two months. Do not use a ribbon so long that it 
writes grey instead of black. Change when the imprint gets light. 
Some writers cut their ribbon into two pieces and always have a 
half old ribbon and a half new one on the machine, using the 
old half for practice and the new for copying. Black is recom- 
mended because it is easiest read. The only excuse for a colored 
ribbon is when you use a colored paper and ribbon to match, but 
even here it is better not to use other than a black ribbon. If the 
machine you get uses the two color ribons, get a double black and 
when the upper half is exhausted, use the other half; getting 
double use. The red and black is of no use for script work and 
leaders, scenes, etc., should not be put in with red. 

At the first, at any rate, it is best to stick to white paper. 

The paper most suitable for use is a twenty pound bond. This 
is a bond paper weighing twenty pounds to the ream, 17 by 22 
inches. This is cut into fours and gives four sheets each %y 2 by 
11. This is the only proper size of paper to use. A very few 



TOOLS OF THE TRADE 25 

fiction authors use paper 8^2 by $ l / 2 but this is not good for 
scripts . The usual commercial note and the legal 8^2 by 13 are 
equally bad and the 8 by io]/ 2 looks cheap and "skimpy." Until 
you need a lot of paper it is better to get it by the box of 500 
sheets, but when you get fairly into the writing of scripts, it will 
pay you to go to some paper warehouse and order a full ream to 
be cut for you. The saving will be 25 or 30%. 

Do not get heavier than twenty pound paper because a heavier 
paper will increase your postage bills and stamps are the costliest 
item at best. Do not use lighter because you will not get a paper 
that will stand handling. No paper should be so thin that when 
one sheet is laid on top of a second, the writing on the second 
shows through. The paper must be opaque or the editor will 
have trouble reading it and is inclined to return it unread. 

To use "onion skin" or other tissues is the height of foolish- 
ness. These tissues are made for use where a large number of 
carbons must be done at one writing. Some beginners use it to 
save postage, but there is no saving effected where your scripts 
are not read. Onion skin should never be allowed in the work- 
shop of the author. 

For carbon copies get the carbon second sheets. This paper is 
thin but since it is purely for home use it does not matter. It 
will cost from forty cents for five hundred sheets down to about 
twenty. It is best to get a yellow or manila paper for your car- 
bons, then if you are careful to face your carbon to the colored 
paper you can never get your carbon in wrong. This seems a 
slight matter, but it is one of the little tricks that will save time 
and trouble. 

You will need carbon paper to match your carbon sheets. Some 
papers require a soft carbon paper and others work better with 
the hard finish. Get a couple of sheets of each to test and buy in 
larger quantities later on. If you make more than two carbon 
copies you will have to use the soft carbon paper for the lower 
sheets in the pack, but it is not probable that you will make more 
than a single carbon. 

Get two sizes of envelopes, known to the trade as No. 10 and 
11, unless you can find a ten and a half. Do not use white en- 
velopes. These look nicer, but unless you get an expensive grade 
of bond paper envelope or use the costly cloth lined envelopes, 
the white paper should not be used. The powerful bleaching 
agents employed to get the white rots the paper and the envelope 
does not hold together in the mail as well as a manila or craft 
paper. These latter range in price all the way from thirty to 
sixty cents a hundred. 



26 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

Just as the &/> by 11 paper is the only size to use, so are the 
ten and eleven envelopes the only proper sizes. The smaller No. 
9 will just hold a small script, but they are unhandy. Larger 
sizes will not travel well. Do not, in any circumstances, use 
photomailers, as some still do. 

Printed paper is an expensive luxury, not a necessity, more 
especially at the first. Instead get a rubber stamp with your name 
in a 12 point gothic or other plain type and the address in ten 
point. Do not get smaller sizes, and avoid fancy type faces. 
Legibility is to be desired rather than ornamentation. 

A typewriter eraser, some clips and a supply of postage stamps 
will complete your initial outfit. Do not, at the start, get a 
cheap spring postal scales. Get your letters weighed at the post 
office until your business warrants the purchase of a regular post 
office scale with a beam and sliding weight instead of a spring 
and pointer. The scale will cost you three dollars, but you'll 
save that in postage in a couple of years if you send much out. 

Later on you will need some sort of manuscript record, but at 
the start you'll know the history of each script by heart. Many 
systems have been devised, but one that has given satisfaction to 
this writer for the past twenty years is in use by many prominent 
fiction and photoplay writers and gives general satisfaction. 

Get one of the wooden card-file boxes that may be had of al- 
most any stationer for fifty cents. With the box you get one hun- 
dred record cards and twenty-five index cards with tabs rising 
above the edge for one-fifth the length of the card. Procure also 
a ten-cent dating stamp. 

Reverse these index cards so that the blank face is presented 
to the front of the box. On the first of these write "Live." The 
back card should be lettered "Paid" and the one just before that 
"Accepted." Letter the others with the names of the companies 
with which you hope to do business. 

Give each script a number. If you do not wish to start with 
number one, start with 51 or 101, but after that number in con- 
secutive order. 

Put this number on your script and number one of the white 
record cards. These cards have a red line at the top and then ten 
blue lines. Number at the left hand side of the top, above the red 
line. Then type in the title of the story. On the first blue line, 
type the name of the company most likely to accept that style of 
story. On the second that of the next most likely company is 
written and so until you have exhausted the list of likely buyers 
or have written the ten names. Send the story to the studio first 
on the list and with the dating stamp mark in the date. 



TOOLS OF THE TRADE 27 

Suppose that you send it first to the Vitagraph. That name 
comes first on the list, so you send the story there and stamp the 
date of sending. It went out December. 6th and came back the 
tenth. You stamp the date of return and find that Lubin is the 
next choice. You send the script to Lubin and stamp the date 
there. It comes back from there and goes to Edison only to 
come back again, but Essanay, the fourth choice accepts it. 

Each time you send out you change the card. At first it lies in 
the Vitagraph division, it is moved in turn to Lubin, Edison and 
Essanay divisions and when Essanay writes you that they will pay 
you $20 for it, you take it out of Essanay and put it under 
"Accepted." When the check comes you take it out of "Accepted" 
and. permanently file it under "Paid." At the same time you take a 
white card and mark it Essanay. On the first blue line you write 
the number of the story, the date and the amount. In the course 
of time you will have a record of all the sales you have made to 
Essanay and a quick reference to the "Paid" division will tell 
just what stories they were. When all these transactions have 
been completed, your card shows the complete history of the 
script. If you want to enlarge the system to a higher degree get 
a pack of colored cards (you can get a choice of six or eight 
colors), and give each division one of these colored cards. Put 
down the number of each story sent, the date of going and re- 
turn. Presently you will have a record of your Essanay or Edison 
transactions and can tell from these cards how much you have 
sent, what proportion you have sold, how much you get on the 
average and how long it takes them to handle a story when it is 
returned and when they accept. Your story record card will look 
something like this : 

123 — Going Home to Mother Half reel farce 



Under this system there is no danger of sending the same script 
to the same company twice unless it is your intention to do so. 
It is simpler than using the alphabetical file, and more satisfactory 
in many ways. Scripts that come in and are not immediately 
sent out again are held under "Live," where they are under your 
notice, and by watching your "Accepted" division you know what 



Vitagraph 


Dec 6 1912 






Dec 10 1912 


Lubin 


Dec 10 1912 






Dec 28 1912 


Edison 


Dec 30 1912 






Feb 6 1913 


Essanay 


Feb 6 1913 








Reliance 










Imp 


Accepted Mar 


4 


1913 


$20 


Keystone 


Paid Mar 


16 


1913 





28 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

is due and from whom. By filing the stories out under companies 
you know what each one has at any time. 

Your carbon copies can be filed in a cheap pasteboard letter file 
with the file divisions removed, the carbons being filed in numeri- 
cal order, or each carbon can be folded and filed in a cheap grade 
manila envelope and these kept in a drawer in regular order. 

Some writers use the envelope to carry the history of the 
script, all data being written on the face of the envelope, but this 
system is less flexible. Other systems are advocated using printed . 
cards or envelopes, but no provision is made in these for remov- 
ing dead names or adding live ones and printed cards or envelopes 
are not recommended. 

Manuscript covers are not generally used. They frequently 
add to the postage cost, but they undoubtedly save the script from 
rough usage. Cover paper is a stout paper coming in a dozen 
different shades. The paper comes nine by fifteen inches and 
should be cut to nine by twelve and one-quarter. Turn over one 
inch of the paper at the top and clip all the white sheets under 
this fold, then fold as usual. The back may be printed or filled in 
with typewritten data. Here is a good form : 

Title of story here. 
Farce Comedy Drama 
Interior scenes in sets 

Exterior scenes in locations 

Busts 

Total scenes 

The name and address of the author can follow. One writer 
who uses printed covers adds a list of possible causes for rejec- 
tion and requests that one be checked. 

In filling in the above form, a hyphen will give you farce — 
comedy or comedy-drama, making five combinations, the others 
being crossed off. Below you state the number of scenes the sets 
or locations, bust scenes and the total number of scenes. 

Fancy covers, printed stationery and other wrinkles of this 
sort should be left alone until you are satisfied that you can sell 
and keep on selling. Until then back your script with a sheet of 
plain typewriter paper and put another sheet in front with only 
the title of the story, your name and address. These sheets will 
take up the wear and tear and save you the labor of much copy- 
ing. They can be replaced after each return and the script sent 
out looking fresh. 



TOOLS OF THE TRADE 29 

We are rather anticipating the writing of the script, but mail- 
ing the script may as well be described here. 

Back your manuscript in one of the ways described and clip all 
together with a single Niagara clip. Use only one. Any other 
form of clip may be used that does not perforate the paper as does 
the OK and similar clips. Do not use a staple, McGill or similar 
fastener or bind the paper permanently in any form. Put the 
clip at the top of the sheets and not at the side. Above all, do 
not sew or glue the sheets together into book form. The Editor 
can read the story best by slipping off the clip and handling the 
loose sheets. It will also avoid the crumpling of your script and 
ensure its return in the best possible shape. 

The last thing before your clip is put on assure yourself that 
the sheets are in their proper order. Do not mix them up to see 
if they have been read. The editor has to read only the synopsis 
to tell if he does not want the script. 

Fold the script twice, into thirds, making a package S J / 2 by z 2 A 
inches and slip this into a number ten envelope addressed to 
yourself and carrying a two cent stamp. Do not seal this en- 
velope and do not tuck the flap in. 

Place this envelope, Hap down, into a larger envelope ; the num- 
ber eleven. By placing the flap down there is less danger of the 
sharp letter opener mutilating the return envelope. Seal the 
number eleven and address it to the manuscript department of 
the firm to which you wish to send it. Do not address this en- 
velope to the Editor personally, to the director or to any member 
of the firm. It will not help any and may delay the reading. 

Make absolutely certain, by weighing, and by no other way, 
that the envelope is sufficiently well provided with stamps. Some 
companies will not accept underpaid matter from the post office. 

Manuscript classes as first class or letter mail, the postage on 
which is two cents for each ounce or fraction of an ounce. If 
your script does not weigh an ounce and a half, but is over one 
ounce, put on four cents, do not put on three cents. The post- 
age is either two, or four or six cents, etc. 

Do not under any circumstances nor at any time, ever, for any 
possible or conceivable reason, roll your manuscript, and do not 
write on both sides of a sheet of paper. If you must add even 
one line, do not turn the sheet over, take a fresh sheet. 

You may send two or more scripts in the same envelope, but 
provide a return cover for each script. They may desire to retain 
one script and return the other. 

It is not necessary to send a letter with your script. The editor 
knows that you are sending him the script in the hope that he will 
buy it. He knows that without being told. You have nothing 



30 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

else to tell the Editor. Do not spoil your chances of acceptance 
by writing gushy letters and do not try the sympathetic appeal 
by telling the Editor that you are trying to pay your way through 
college or you want to earn enough money to buy mother a 
wooden leg. The studio is not a charitable bureau and the Editor 
will think you are untruthful, so don't write. 

Above all things, do not write that it is a "true" story. He can 
see whether or not it is a good story and that is all he wants 
to know. 



CHAPTER V. 

THE FORM OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

The three divisions of photoplay form — the synopsis — the 
cast — the action — the need for a brief synopsis — synopses 
only — the scene plot. 

Photoplay form is not a printed blank form on which plays 
should be written as many seem to suppose from the letters they 
send asking for some of the forms. Photoplay form is merely the 
form in which the photoplay should be written. This form varies 
slightly in the different studios, but the form here given is the 
one most generally used with such slight variations as the per- 
sonal preference of the editor or director may dictate. 

The three essentials of the photoplay are the Synopsis, the Cast 
and the Plot of Action. Some studios require a property plot and 
writers, who are reasonably certain that their plays will be fol- 
lowed add a scene plot for the convenience of the director, but 
the synopsis, cast and plot of action only are essential. The scene 
and property plots are useless unless prepared by one who un- 
derstands precisely what is wanted and a scene plot is useless, 
save to give a hint as to the number of scenes, unless the play is 
so developed that the director follows the script exactly. 

It is customary to write the plot of action first and the synopsis 
afterward, and it is best to follow this plan even in clean copy- 
ing the rough script, since some good point may suggest itself 
even at the last moment. In any event the plot of action should 
start on a fresh page. It is not necessary to number these pages 
as the scene numbers answer the purpose as well. 

In preparing the synopsis page, type your name and address in 
the upper left hand corner and in the right hand corner either state 
that the manuscript is offered "At usual rates" or state that it is 
"Offered at $25" or whatever value you place upon it. You must 



TOOLS OF THE TRADE 31 

either offer at usual rates or state your price. Do not ask for an 
offer. Now and then an Editor will negotiate as to price, but as 
a rule the manuscript that is submitted subject to agreement as to 
price is returned without a reading. 

At usual rates means that you send the script for sale subject 
to whatever price the company may decide the script to be worth. 
Most of the professional authors follow this plan because most 
©f them have found that they profit in the long run. They may 
get less for one story than they think it is worth, but on the other 
hand a story often brings more than the anticipated sum. 

You have your name and address in one corner and "At usual 
rates" in the other. In writing your name and address (use a 
rubber stamp if you have one) write the first character of the 
second line under the first character of your name and do not 
string it out as in addressing a letter. The top of the sheet will 
look like this : 



JOHN E. JONES, 

453 Blank street, At usual rates 

Nowhere, N. Y. 



Now turn your platen until you get the paper to a point where the 
line is an inch and a half or two inches from the top of your 
sheet. Write your title, not in capital letters, but with a capital 
to start each important word, keeping the two and three letter 
words in lower case. The all capital line is not as easy to read. 
It is better to gain emphasis by underlining the title with the 
proper character. 

The title should be printed in the centre of the page. If you 
have experience you may be able to do this off hand, but unless 
you are able, you will find this rule handy : Count each letter and 
space in the title. Substract this from the number of spaces your 
machine writes. Divide what remains by tw©, add one and start 
the first character there. 

Suppose that your title is Going Home to Mother. That is 
twenty letters and spaces. Twenty from seventy-five leaves fifty- 
five. Half of that is twenty-seven and a half. Call it twenty- 
seven, add one and start the G on space twenty-eight on your scale. 

If you wish you can give a brief announcement under the title 
such as : 

A farce comedy in 19 scenes, requiring 3 interior scenes 
and 8 exterior locations. 



32 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

This is not required, but it gives the Editor some idea of what 
is needed in the way of settings. You might amplify this a little 
and say : 

A farce comedy in 19 scenes; 5 in 3 interior seta; 14 in 8 
exterior locations. 



Now turn up four spaces, or lines, write the word Synopsis, 
turn two more spaces and start the synopsis. 

But first let's get a clear understanding of just what the 
synopsis is and what it should not be. When you pick up a 
newspaper you see in large type certain lines that give you at a 
glance the real meat of the article. It's a synopsis of that news- 
paper story. It says perhaps "Twenty persons killed." It doesn't 
give their names unless one or more of the victims are of un- 
usual prominence. It just says that twenty persons are killed. If 
you wish to know who they are, you must read the story. The 
fact that twenty persons were killed makes the story more in- 
teresting than if there had been no loss of •life. 

Now that's just about what your synopsis should be, but since 
you have 250 words instead of perhaps 50 and do not need to 
break up your heading into sections or "decks," you can make it 
more of a running story, but you plan your synopsis on the same 
lines. You say that twenty persons are killed, but you do not use 
just that line. Perhaps Jim gets in a tight place and gets out 
again in a clever way. You do not give every detail of how Jim 
gets out of trouble. You have not the space to tell all the de- 
tails. You say instead : Jim gets his father to pretend to make 
love to Nell and by pretending to be jealous brings about a 
quarrel that makes Nell forget her suspicions. That's the big 
fact. You don't have to tell in the synopsis just how Jim goes 
about it and precisely how the father makes love. 

In a word your synopsis is not a fiction form of your action 
story. It is just a sort of advertisement of that story so briefly 
told that the Editor can get the idea in a minute or two. If he 
likes the idea he'll read the action and if the action bears out the 
promise of the synopsis, he'll buy the story. Make it snappy, point 
to all the good things, but don't make it windy and draggy. Make 
it short and attractive. Word it to get the interest of the 
reader, whether he is Editor or producer. 

Some writers make a sort of synopsis of the synopsis. They 
start off with a couple of lines, something like this : 



THE FORM OF THE PHOTOPLAY 33 

A happy little farce comedy. Maudie quarrels with Ferdie 
and goes right home to her Ma, but Ma doesn't want her because 
she is planning to marry Major Webb, so Maudie goes back to 
Ferdie and everybody's happy. 

Now they follow with a little more detail, and give a few of 
the facts, something like this : 

Maudie hasn't been married very long and she can't get used 
to having Ferdie read the baseball page at the breakfast table, 
so one morning she tears up the paper before he gets a chance 
to see if the home team's crack pitcher is better or dead. 
That would make any fan mad, and you can't blame Ferdie for 
breaking a few dishes and saying a few things. It's the first 
quarrel and off Maudie goes to Ma. She expects to cry all 
her sorrows out on the maternal shoulder, but Ma is busy. 
She's a widow and not so old. Now that Maudie is off her hands 
she has a chance to marry Major Webb. Maudie gets home so 
late that night that Ferdie does not know of her return. She 
hides when he comes down to breakfast, but when Ferdie finds 
the paper propped up against the carafe and open at the sport- 
ing page he guesses the rest and for once he forgets to read 
the paper in his delight at getting Maudie back. 

Don't you think that a synopsis like this would interest the 
Editor more than a story that starts off "Ferdie, a rich young 
broker, marries Maude, the daughter of MJrs. Sprague, a widow. 
Ferdie is a baseball fan and we see him in the first scene sitting 
at the breakfast table reading the paper and hardly speaking to 
Maude. When she speaks to him he gets angry. The next scene 
shows the same thing the next morning. Maude tries to get him 
to talk and when he will not, she tears up his paper. He gets 
mad and smashes the dishes and things, the maid comes in and he 
throws a roll at her. She runs out and Ferdie goes off to the 
office without kissing Maude. She cries and decides to go home 
to her mother," etc. 

Keep it terse and you'll not complain that your story has not 
been read. It will be read and read with interest if you make it 
interesting, but when the Editor starts to read he may have three 
or four hundred scripts that have accumulated and he has not 
the time to wade through two or three pages of synopsis. He 
wants the main point's of the story at a glance. 

A limit of 250 words is set in most studios and in some the 
long synopsis will be returned with a request for the shorter 
length. The 250 word limit was first used by the Edison com- 
pany because all of its Editors received a copy of the synopsis of 



34 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

each likely story. Other studios took up the limit as a convenient 
standard and because any one reel story and most two and three 
reel stories can be fully covered in that length. The synopsis of 
the multiple reel story may run slightly longer if it is necessary, 
but it should not be necessary. 

Occasionally a company will advertise for synopses only. In 
this case some studio writer develops the plots into a working 
script and the plot of action is not sent. In such a case it is 
permissible to exceed 250 word limit and run a thousand if neces- 
sary to get the idea over clearly. 

Short synopses should be single spaced. The synopsis, when 
sent alone, should be double spaced. 

One great fault of the beginner is to put only into the synopsis 
the explanations that should appear in action or leader in the 
plot of action. It is safe to say that a third of the scripts re- 
ceived at any studio will carry points in the synopsis that are not 
in the action at all and which must be put in by the Editor or 
producer if the script is accepted. It should be remembered 
that the Editor and the producer are the only persons who see 
the synopsis and that the audiences are also entitled to this in- 
formation. If you say that Jane marries John because she has 
quarreled with Harry, show the quarrel and add in a leader that 
Jane acepts John in a fit of anger. The producer can put it into 
the action when he finds it in the synopsis; he must in order to 
have the story clear, but it is your business to do that work. 
That is what you are paid to do. 

It is a good plan, where possible, to get some frank and intelli- 
gent friend to read the action without having any knowledge of 
the synopsis, and see if the action tells the full story. 

The cast is pretty much the same as the program of a dra- 
matic performance save that if necessary you add a suggestion as 
to the type of character. You do not merely say that John Smith 
is Jim's father if it is important to the story that Smith walks 
with a limp. You add that fact in the cast, but if it is clearly 
shown in the script that John Smith is quick tempered and hasty, 
you do not need to add that in the cast. Some casts need notic- 
ing more than the names of the players, as in this case: 



John- 
Ma ry- 

John's father- 
Mary's mother- 
Policeman- 
Maid- 
Messenger boy- 



THE FORM OF THE PHOTOPLAY 35 

Every character should be cast, no matter how unimportant, 
unless a crowd is used, when each member of the crowd is not 
indicated but merely the fact that a crowd is reeded. 

If a large cast is employed and many of the characters appear 
but once or twice, it is well to number the scenes in which they 
appear, that the director may "double" them, having one player 
take two or more parts with the aid of the disguising make-up. 
The leading characters, the first four or five, who appear in a ma- 
jority of the scenes, are not numbered. Only the minor char- 
acters should be so identified. 

Here is such a cast properly done. 

John Smith- 
Mary Morton- 
Henry Smith-John's father. 
Anna-his mother. 
Maid-in 3-9 
Cook-in 8-11-15 
Butler-in 8-9 
Letter carrier-14 

If the director is working with a small company he knows that 
he can have the same woman play the maid and the cook and 
that the same man can be the smooth shaven butler and the 
bearded postman. 

The best way to keep track of these appearances is to keep a 
slip of paper beside your typewriter. On this enter the name of a 
character as soon as used. Then, at each appearance of the 
minor characters, note the scene number. When you have done 
you have a list of the characters in the order of their appear- 
ance. All that is necessary is to pick out the leading characters 
and write them in the cast first and then follow with the subor- 
dinate characters. Do not attempt to double the characters. 
Leave that to the director. And if you have in mind a play that 
will just suit a particular company, do not give the names of the 
persons whom you desire to play the leading roles. 

And do not seek to impose upon the director your exact idea 
of the characters. Sometimes it is necessary that this should be 
done where a character must be of a certain type, but do not 
say that the heroine has blue eyes and blonde hair when the part 
would suit a brunette just as well, and do not ask for a hero six 
feet tall when one five feet, eleven inches will be just as good. 

If you use the scene plot keep a memorandum of the scenes on 
a slip as advised for the cast, but check these up before you enter 
them on the synopsis page. The scene plot is merely a list of 



36 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

scenes and the number of the scenes played in each. For con- 
venience the interiors and the exteriors should be kept separate. 
The scenes may be written in two columns or one, as preferred. 
Where there are many and the space is limited, it is better to use 
two columns. If you have plenty of space write the interiors first 
and then give the exteriors. Samples of both of these are given 
here. The reproduction will be found self explanatory. 

Scene plot 
Interior Exterior 

Parlor-1-3-5 Street-7 

Library-2-4-9-11-13 Exterior of houee-8-10-12 

Hallway-6-14-18 Lawn-15 

Shore of lake-17 
Boat house-18 

If the other form is used, it will look like this : 

Scene plot 
Interior 
Parlor-1-3-5 
Library-2-4-9-11-13 
Hallway-6-14-16 

Exterior 
Street-7 

Exterior of house-8-10-12 
Lawn-15 

Shore of lake-17 
Boat house-18 

If the director follows your script he will check off each scene 
as made and at the same time see what the next scene is. 

If you have several scenes showing the library and want one 
of these to show just a corner of the library with the figures 
much larger than would be possible without moving the camera, 
you write that as a separate scene, for a scene is all the action 
that may be taken at one time without moving the camera or 
stopping the turning. The camera is stopped and moved for the 
fireplace so we have 

Library-3-7-9-12-14 

Close up of corner of samerl3 

It is not recommended that a property list be written, unless 
some company particularly asks for it. The property plot lists a\\ 



THE PLOT OF ACTION 37 

things used in the play by scenes. Everything used in this scene 
must be called for. Here is a sample list for one scene : 

PARLOR IN MAY'S HOME- Rugs- round table- arm chair- sofa- two 
armless chairs- cover for table- books for same- book case- 
books for same- fancy lamp for table- vases for book case- one 
painting- two etchings- wall telephone- sure fire revolver 
on table- sure fire revolver for John- suit case for maid- 
bottle and glasses on tray off. 

Sure fire revolvers means that the weapons are to be dis- 
charged. The bottles and glasses are "off" because they are 
brought into the scene after the camera is started. The suitcase 
is for the maid, because, while it belongs to John, she brings i: 
in, and the property man must give the "hand properties" or 
those carried to the person indicated. 

Property lists, "director's sheets" and similar devices are fads 
of no real value when prepared by the beginner. The director's 
sheet is a condensed memorandum of the action by scenes and is 
used only by certain men who profess to be indifferent to the 
script and direct "out of their own head." 

Properly done the synopsis, cast and scene plot will all go on a 
single page. If necessary, two may be used, but it should not be 
necessary. 



CHAPTER VI 

THE PLOT OF ACTION 

Necessity for orderly arrangement — impossible to go back — 
introducing and identifying the characters — the start and 
the finish important. 

Since the photoplay is a story told in action instead of words, 
it follows that the story must be fully told in action with the aid 
of leaders and inserted matter. 

If you were writing a story you might start it something like 
this: 

"Then you do not love me ! You never did love me 1" 

Reginald Montmorenci cried these words in the tones of one 
whose heart is breaking as he staggered back from the proud 
beauty who stood facing him, cold and defiant. 

"No," was Gwendolyn's even answer. "It is perhaps as well that 
you should know the truth now. I do not love you. I never did 
love you, and it is useless to hope that I can learn. You and my 



38 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

parents forced me into this hateful marriage. I was forced into 
it, sold to you, if you will have it that way." 

Then the story goes backward and tells all about Gwendolyn, 
about Reginald, about Percy, who is the man she really loves, the 
courtship of Reginald and all the rest. That's possible, because 
you can jump about as much as you like in a book and merely 
explain that this is something that happened five years ago. 

You cannot do this in photoplay. ■ Photoplay is the record of 
life and when properly produced it seems a bit of life itself. To 
run along for a time and then suddenly explain that the next 
scene happened a week ago is as unreal as moving last Thursday 
over into next Friday. The scene that happens Friday must be 
shown before the scene that happens on Saturday and you must 
show what happened at nine o'clock before that which happens 
at half past ten. If you do not you will get your audience so 
badly mixed that they will lose interest in the plot and vote the 
play tiresome. You must start with your first scene, show each 
action in its proper place clear through to the climax and then 
drop the play as quickly as possible. You cannot explain in scene 
nineteen that along about scene five Jack was married to Mabel. 
Let your audience see the marriage if you would have the matter 
understood. 

Not only must each scene be played in chronological order, but 
each scene should aid in advancing the plot. Do not write in 
scenes because they will be pretty or because they will give a 
thrill. Write the essential scenes in pretty settings, if you will, 
and get all the thrills you can by making these thrills a part of 
the actual story. 

Before you start to write the script think out your action. Get 
the story running smoothly in your mind and, until you have 
gained experience, it is better to write out a reasonably full 
scenario. 

And please note we use scenario in its proper sense. A scenario 
is a brief sketch of the plot of a story. A few years ago 
scenario was used to apply to all photoplay scripts, but the use 
of the word in that sense is incorrect. It is one of the misnomers 
brought into the business by the stage managers and players. 

The scenario gives you a general idea of the action as you wish 
it to run, but it is a running story, much like a long synopsis. 
Now you must work from the scenario and develop the plot of 
action. 

Before you start be absolutely certain that your start is the 
proper one. You have only fifteen to eighteen minutes at best 
and you cannot waste time on a lot of meaningless scenes that 
precede the real start of the story. Start with the first scene 



THE PLOT OF ACTION 39 

that really starts to tell the story you want to tell. There may be 
a lot of interesting things that happened before that, but you 
have not the time in which to tell them. Jump right into the story. 

Suppose that John loves Nell but can't marry her until he can 
sell his invention and have as much money as her father has. 
Don't have a scene showing John in his humble home, a second 
in Nell's palatial residence, a third showing John starting out to 
meet Nell, a fourth showing Nell setting forth to keep the ap- 
pointment and a fifth showing the meeting. Show the meeting as 
the first scene. His clothes and hers tell of their different sta- 
tions in life and you'll emphasize this later when you have real 
reason to show the two homes. 

Suppose that you run the scene something like this. John and 
Nell meet. They are interrupted by Mr. Morton, Nell's father, 
who is highly indignant. He tells John that if he catches him 
with Nell again he will have him thrashed, bundles Nell into the 
automobile and they exit, leaving John standing there. 

Get your white sheet and carbon and carbon sheet into the ma- 
chine and put down your name and address, just as you did in 
the synopsis sheet. You do not repeat "At usual rates." 

Below, and in the centre, type in the name of the story.' Under 
that write Plot of Action. Raise the roller two spaces. Now 
change your left hand margin stop so that when you push the 
carriage up you stop at the 5 instead of the o. Now with the 
stop there press the margin release and bring the carriage so that 
you will print at o and make the Arabic figure 1. Do not use 
Roman numerals. The director knows that XVIII means 18, but 
it is not as easy to read. Try and keep things as simple as pos- 
sible in every way. Make a dash after the figure with the hyphen 
mark and then write in the important action of that first scene. 
You should get something like this : 



JOHN E. JONES, 
453 Blank street, 
Nowhere, N. Y. 

The Price of Pride 



Plot of Action 



1- Park- John on- impatient- car enters- Nell leaves car- 
comes to John- lovers' greetings- they talk- Morton 
enters on foot- sees Nell- astonished- comes down- speaks- 
angry- John does not reply- Morton threatens with cane- 
Nell checks him- he bundles her into car- car off. 



40 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

That's not one-tenth of what you wanted to say about the 
scene, and it's not half what you think that you positively must 
say, perhaps, but it is all you need to say for you have told the 
whole scene in four type-written lines. You have told the director 
all he needs to know and that is enough. 

The director knows how a man and woman in love with each 
other will act and he knows how a cranky old father will act. 
You tell him that these are the three people and they do certain 
things. You leave how they do it to the director, telling only 
what is done. 

You see but one period used, and that at the end of the scene. 
Dashes are used elsewhere. There are two reasons for this. 
One is that you do not have to stop and consider punctuation and 
the other is that by using a dash instead of a punctuation mark, 
you can clip off a lot of unimportant words. You are not trying 
to write fluent phrase. You are trying to tell a story as briefly 
as possible and the dash not only saves a lot of connecting words, 
but it chops the sentence up into each action. If you will study 
that scene closely you will see that each dash follows some definite 
action. Morton enters on foot. That is one action. He sees 
Nell. He comes down. He speaks to Nell. He grows angry. 
Each division is a distinct action. 

It will seem difficult at first to write with such extreme brevity 
and it may be some little time before you can write so tersely 
and get everything in, but it will come with practise and after a 
time you will find it very easy. At the start, for the sake of prac- 
tice, let the action run as it will and then see how much you can 
cut it down without taking out a single explanation. 

You will feel that you should have told how John kissed Nell 
and how they held hands until she gently withdrew hers. You 
will think that "lovers' greetings" is far too little to get down the 
pretty little love scene you have- in mind, but you'll find that the 
director knows what lovers' greetings are, and if he doesn't get 
your love scene he will have one as good and perhaps better. 
There is one thing you do not know and he does. He knows pre- 
cisely what the players of Nell and John can do and he will give 
them stuff that they can play. You might have had a five foot 
heroine in mind, a kittenish, cuddlesome little thing. His lead- 
ing woman may be five feet seven and that's seven inches too tall 
to be cuddlesome. Your business, if written in full, would have 
been absurd. If you had written this so that it had to be played 
by a five foot soubrette, you would not have sold it to a director 
with a five foot seven woman lead, but by leaving it more or 
less impersonal you appeal to either. 

At the same time, if you have a scene that needs ten lines or 
twenty or fifty to get the idea over, use the space. The measure 



THE PLOT OF ACTION 41 

of a play is the time the action runs, not the number of words. 

Remember, too, that it is not the number of scenes you write, 
but the length of time they run. 

But let's write some more. You have two choices for your 
second scene. You can follow John or you can follow Nell. Fig- 
ure out which is the more important. The next big bit of busi- 
ness is that Nell writes John that she will marry him and no one 
else. That means that we must follow Nell. If we had planned 
to follow John we should have had John walk off the first scene 
so that we would be prepared to see him come into the second, 
but we shall not need John for a moment so we leave him stand- 
ing in scene one and follow Nell to her home. 

We might show the next scene with Nell coming into the li- 
brary of her home, but we are going to use the front of the 
house anyway a little later and we might as well show that she 
gets home. It will make the action a little smoother, so we write : 



2- Exterior Nell's home- Nell and Morton enter in car- 
leave car- exit into house. 

3- Library- Nell and Morton enter- Morton angry- Nell 
defiant- Morton exits- Nell to desk- writes. 

On screen- note 
Dear John, 

No matter what father says, I'll marry no one but you. 

Lovingly, 

NELL. 

Back to scene- Nell calls maid- gives letter- Maid exits- 
Nell cries. 

You will notice that the "On screen" is written in the margin, 
the same as the figures and presently you will see the leaders done 
in the same way. This is to make certain that these are not over- 
looked, both in the making of the picture and when they are 
written off to be sent to the leader room to be made. You will 
note, too, that while the scenes are single spaced, a double space 
is used between scenes and between parts of scenes and inserts 
or leaders. 

A bust is not brought out into the margin because it is a scene 
itself, even though it is inserted into some larger scene of which 
it is a magnified section. 

Note, too, that John and Nell are called by their first names, 
and her father by his last. As a rule, young people are called by 
their first names and their elders by their last. It suggests a 



42 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

difference to the director in reading. In the same way it is well 
to select short, easily remembered names. If your Spanish heroine 
was christened Juanita, shorten it to Nita for the sake of brevity 
and pronounciation. Use the shorter names for leading charac- 
ters and the longer ones for the minor players. Call your hero 
Steve, but your villain Stephen, because you are not as friendly 
with the villain. 

Now that the note is written John should get it. He might 
receive it at the house or on the street. It is better to have the 
maid meet him coming out of the house, because that saves show- 
ing the front when she arrives and then his room. We cut out 
one scene and yet get a better effect. The real art of practical 
photoplay writing lies in looking out for these. little things. We 
have the scene : 

4- Front of John's home- John enters from house- Maid enters- 
gives note- John reads- ' 

On screen- <£lash of note from No. 3- 

Back to scene- John kisses note- puts in pocket- exits up 
street. 

In scene two we had Nell exit into the house and now we have 
John entering from the house. This rather upsets our notions. 
We thought people entered a house or made their exit from it. 
But we are speaking now of the scene. John enters the scene by 
making his exit from the house. Nell makes her exit from the 
scene by entering her home. 

There is no real need of flashing the note in this scene, since it 
is the only note yet used, but it only takes about three feet and 
there is a sort of definite identification that is worth those three 
feet. It is best always to show what is written at the time it is 
written and what is read at the moment that it is read. 

These four scenes complete the introduction. We know John, 
Nell and her father, their homes, their circumstances, their names 
and the position in which they find themselves. Now we are 
ready to go on with the story. All of this happened in one day, 
but now there is a jump. We cannot show John in the park with- 
out explanation unless we would have it thought that he went 
from scene four straight to the park, so we preceed the next scene 
with a leader. 

Leader- Several weeks later. An accidental meeting. 

5- Park- As in No. 5-' Nell loitering along walk- John enters- 
sees her- surprised- pleased- comes forward- greetings- 
they walk slowlyy-toward camera- exit, 



THE PLOT OF ACTION 43 

6- Another part of park- John and Nell walk slowly through- 
as they exit Morton enters on cross path- sees them- exits 
after them. 

7- Entrance to park- Nell's auto waiting- Nell and John enter 
from park- stand talking- Morton hurries up- about to 
strike John with cane- Nell cries warning- John catches 
cane- breaks it across his knee- throws pieces on ground- 
Morton raves- John raises hat to Nell- exits. 

Leader- The young inventor meets success. 

8: Workshop- auto with bonnet removed- rear wheels on home 
trainer-John enters- removes coat-bends over motor. 

9- Nell's home, as in No. 2- Nell and Morton enter in car- 
alight- Morton sees other car coming- points- waits- 
other car enters- Count alights- Morton greets effusively- 
introduces Nell- Nell cold- all enter house. 

10- Workshop as in No. 8- John still working- handles levers- 
engine starts- works- John delighted- looks up- vision in 
corner- John and Nell before minister- vision fades- John 
picks up coat- hurries out. 

11- Library as in No. 3- Nell, Morton and Count on- Count 
taking leave- very impressive in manner- Nell still cold- 
Count exits- Morton turns on Nell- furious- speaks- 

Cut-in leader- "That is the man you will marry. You will be a 
countess." 

Back to scene- Nell defiant- Morton storms out. 



Now the story has been advanced another stage. We have 
shown that it is through his invention that John hopes to be 
able to marry Nell. We also show the Count, indicate Morton's 
desire, show John's success and Nell's defiance of her father. By 
running the shop scenes alternately with the ones showing Nell, 
we do not have to stay too long in any one scene and yet avoid 
the use of leader. 

If we had shown Morton in No. 5 it would have seemed as 
though he was spying on Nell, but since he chances on them as 
they walk along, it is apparent that he was not watching. If we 
had shown John come into the shop and at once perfect the in- 
vention the effect would have been absurd, but by going to the 
Mortons' house for a moment and then coming back to find John 
successful, we have advanced the story through the introduction 
of the Count and at the same time have given John time to 
succeed. 



44 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

The vision tells John's first thought. The cut-in leader could 
have been run before scene eleven without loss of interest, but 
if it had been run between scenes there might have existed some 
doubt as to whether the words were spoken before or after the 
Count's departure. It is not a good plan to cut in a leader unless 
it is necessary, as a leader interrupts the action and causes a mo- 
mentary check in the interest, but there are times when a cut in 
leader is more or less necessary. 

Now we come to a third period. John recognizes the Count as 
a former chauffeur. He determines to keep watch. He also 
sells his invention. 

Leader- Some days late?. John recognizes the Count as a chaf- 
feur. 

12- Street- Morton, Nell and Count coming toward camera- John 
enters from camera- raises hat- Nell and Count respond- 
Morton looks straight ahead- they exit- John looks after 
them- puzzled- thinks- dissolve in auto at curb- chauffeur 
bending over machine- straightens up- shows face- it is 
the Count- dissolve out- John smiles- exits up street. 

13- Business office- Bascom at desk- John ushered in- Bascom 
cordial- shows John paper- John reads- 

On screen-part of assignment 

for which the parties of the first part agree to pay the 
party of the second part $50,000 on assignment of patent 
rights and a royalty of $25 on every machine so equipped. 

Back to scene- John nods- lawyer enters- Bascom says John 
will sign- John signs papers- shakes hands- exits. 

Because we did not see John and the Count while the latter was 
a chauffeur, we use a leader to explain the recognition and then 
dissolve in the Count as he was then. This makes the leader 
more plain and drives home the fact. No leader is used to ex- 
plain the sale of the patent because that fact is covered by the 
section of the assignment. A leader in explanation would seem 
too long, but while the insert is longer and stays longer on the 
screen, it seems a part of the scene and not an instrusive leader, 
and so it is less objectionable. 

Now the middle action starts. The chauffeur-Count is moved 
to the front for a moment. 

Leader- That evening- 

14- Library as in No. 3- Count, Nell and others on- small 
dinner party- all exit except Count and Morton- Count 



THE PLOT OF ACTION 45 

speaks- Morton takes key from pocket- opens safe set in 
wall- displays jewels- Count admires- jewels returned- 
Morton about to lock safe- Count jostles Morton- show that 
it is done on purpose- key drops- Morton stoops- Count is 
quicker- gets key. 

15- Bust of Count's hands making impression of key in wax. 

16- Back to No. 14- Count completes action by rising- hands 
key to Morton with apology- they exit. 

It will be noticed that scene fourteen gives the library "as in 
No. 3," but that scene sixteen is "back to No. 14." This is be- 
cause there are other scenes between fourteen and eleven, the 
last previous library scene, and the time is later. In scene six- 
teen there is only the slight change from the end of fourteen, cov- 
ered by the making of the wax impression, so that the scene is 
practically the same. We go back to the scene as it was in the 
end of fourteen and resume the interrupted action. 

"Rack to," is used where the action is but slightly interrupted. 
"Same as," is used where the setting is the same, but the scene 
opens with different action. In that case reference is made to 
the scene number first used. Seventeen is the same as sixteen 
except that time has passed and now instead of the stage being 
bare as at the end of sixteen, Nell and the Count are discovered. 
If we went "Back to" sixteen we would go back to a bare stage. 

Leader- For her refusal to marry the Count Nell is sent to the 
country. 

17- Library as in No. 3- Count and Nell on- Count proposes- 
Nell refuses- l}e tries to force engagement ring on finger- 
she resists- Morton enters- sides with Count- Nell rushes 
from room- Morton apologizes to Count- assures him it will 
be all right. 

18- John's workshop as in No. 8- John and Bascom on- they 
enter car- John starts car- they exit in car. 

Leader- The speed device is a success. 

19- Speedway or country road- John and Bascom enter in car- 
Bascom holds watch- gives the word- John speeds car- 

20- Further along- John and Bascom pass through in car- slow 
turning to give speed. 

21- End of speedway or roadside- group of men waiting- car 
seen in distance- approaches rapidly- shows- stops at 
group- Bascom joins group- shows watch- all congratulate 
John- he thanks them- turns- exits. 



46 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

22- Workshop as in No. 8- John enters alone in car- closes 
door- starts to attend to car- man enters- gives note- 
John reads- 

On screen- Note 

Because I would not marry the Count, father is sending 
me to Uncle George's place in the country, with the house 
keeper for a watchman- I will write soon- don't be 
discouraged. NELL. 

Back to scene- John shocked- comes to sudden determina- 
tion- puts on coat- exits. 

Leader- John goes to warn Morton. 

23- Street- John passes through. 

24- Close up of Morton's steps- John enters- rings bell- 
servant comes- takes John's card- exits, closing door- 
John shows surprise at being left on steps. 

25- Library as in No. 3- Morton and Count on- talking- servant 
enters with card- gives Morton- Morton angry- exits- Count 
rises as door closes- goes to safe. 

26- Back to No. 24- Morton enters- starts to row with John- 
John speaks- Morton refuses to believe. 

27- Back to No. 25- Count has opened safe- stuffs jewels in 
pocket. 

28- Back to No. 26- John still arguing- Morton enters house- 
John follows. 

29- Back to No. 27- Count closing safe- hears noise- alarmed- 
tries to lock safe- Morton and John enter- Count tries to 
appear unconcerned- John goes to safe- opens- they seize 
Count- take jewels from him- John goes to telephone- Mor- 
ton tells him not to send for the police- Count exits- has 
nerve back- Morton thanks John. 

All through these later scenes "Back to" is used since the dual 
action is continuous, but while this is a cut-back it is not the 
cut-back as it is generally understood, though it is the same as a 
cut-back in the way it is handled. The dual action is employed 
here to cover up the actual robbery and get the story past the 
Board of Censors, though if they passed the wax impression of 
the key they would probably pass this. The commission of any 
crime or offensive act can be covered up in this fashion. We 
are coming presently to the true cut-back. 



THE PLOT OF ACTION 47 

Leader- The Count plans revenge. 

30- Street- Auto at curb- Jenkins beside machine- Count 
enters- Jenkins recognizes him- they talk- Count makes 
proposal- Jenkins assents- Count enters car- Jenkins 
about to follow- Count kicks him in chest- Jenkins falls- 
Count speeds out of scene- John enters- helps Jenkins up- 
Jenkins explains- John startled- writes in notebook. 

On screen- Page from memo book- 

This man tells me that the Count has gone" to abduct Nell 
for ransom. I am going to her help. Hurry after. 

Back to scene- John gives Jenkins note- Jenkins starts in 
one direction- John runs in the other. 

31- Workshop as in No. 8- John rushes in- hustles out in car. 

32- Lawn of country house- Nell reading- old woman watching. 

33- Road- Count passes through in car. 

34- City street- John passes through in car. 

35- Lawn as in No. 31- Nell on- looks up in surprise- Count 
enters- speaks. 

36- Country road- John passes through in car. 
Leader- "Your father is ill. He sends for you." 

37- Back to No. 35- Count speaks leader- Nell shows distress- 
hurries from scene with Count-old woman follows. 

38- Entrance to country estate- car waiting- Count and Nell 
hurry in- Count helps Nell in car- follows- exits as old 
woman hurries into scene- she calls after them- no re- 
sponse. 

39- Road- Count and Nell race through. 

40- Nell's house as in No. 2- Morton enters from house- Jen- 
kins enters- gives Morton note- Morton reads. 

On screen- Flash of note from No. 30. 

Back to scene- Morton gives Jenkins tip- hurries into car- 
exits in car. 

41- Entrance as in No. 38- Woman still on- John enters in car- 
speaks- woman points direction Count took- John exits. 

42- Road- Count and. Nell pass through- Count looking back. 

43- Road as in No. 39- John passes through scene. 

44- Road- Count and Nell pass through. 



48 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

45- Road as in No. 33- Morton passes through in car. 

46- Crossroads- Count and Nell enter in car- Count takes right 
hand road- Nell tosses out glove- make action as marked as 
possible. 

47- Road- John passes through. 

48- Crossroads as in No. 46- John enters- slows down- does not 
know which road- sees glove- recognizes it- kisses it- 
starts down right hand road. 

49- Road- Count and Nell enter- Nell struggling with Count for 
steering wheel- car swerves. 

50- Road- John runs through. 

51- Back to No. 48, but car now overturned- Nell and Count in 
road unconscious beside car- John enters- stops- runs to 
Nell- works over her. 

52- Entrance as in No. 38- Morton enters- woman runs through 
gate- tells Morton- points- Morton starts ahead. 

53- Back to No. 51- Nell revives- they give attention to 
Count- he is dead- John covers his face with spare auto 
duster- hear car coming- Morton enters in car- comes to 
them- thanks John- all enter John's car, leaving Morton's 
chauffeur with Count- exit. 

This is rather a crude example of the cut-back, but it serves to 
show how the scenes are laid out to hold the suspense. It also 
makes possible that overturned automobile. As the car swerves 
it is stopped. After it is overturned scene fifty-one is made 
and then the last scene. 

That last scene closes the story rather abruptly, but it is better 
to stop right there. We -see that John gets the girl and there 
our interest dies. It would be possible to go on and show the 
marriage, but it would be just as possible and just as logical to 
keep on and show that they had children and grandchildren, 
that they lived to a ripe old age, then died and were buried. 

This is the story of how John won Nell. As soon as he wins 
her stop, for the interest dies. There is art in knowing just when 
the story starts, but to know just when to stop and not stop a 
scene too soon or two scenes' too late is a far greater accom- 
plishment. 

Before we drop the story note that while we early find that 
the Count really is Jim Laroque, a thieving chauffeur, we keep 
on calling him the Count. Have just one name for a character 
and always use that name. 



LEADERS AND INSERTED MATTER 49 



CHAPTER VII. 

LEADERS AND INSERTED MATTER 

The importance of careful work — leaders vs. letters — 'tele- 
grams — newspaper headlines — the pictorial insert — need 
for variety — "leaderless" script. 



One of the most marked signs of the novice is the awkward 
handling of leaders and inserts. 

It has been repeatedly stated that the ideal script is one that 
is entirely free from leader,. and this is quite true. Leader hv 
terrupts the action and for a. moment halts the interest in the 
picture while the brain assimilates the information just conveyed. 
In the theater the curtain falls and interrupts the action. When 
it rises again there are a few minutes in which the effort is wholly 
directed to "getting the audjer^ee back." The leader is the drop 
curtain of the photoplay and, whether it is used as a curtain or 
not, there is a certain check in the interest, a momentary lapse of 
attention. Therefore the ideal script is one in which no leader 
is needed to explain the story. 

, But it is well to remember that there is a vast difference be- 
tween the script that needs no leaders and the script that merely 
lacks them. Better a leader before each scene and an under- 
standable story, than the leaderless script and a meaningless and 
therefore uninteresting jumble of confused action. The real 
leaderless script would be one in which the action all passed 
within a few hours, . escaping the need of time leaders, and in 
which the story was so simple as not to need printed explanation. 
Do not, at the start, try for the leaderless script. Try, instead, 
to use as few leaders 33 possible and to have these as clear and 
as concise as you can get them. 

Another statement, wholly correct but sadly misapplied, is that 
a letter is less apt to be resented than a leader. This is very true. 
A thirty word letter is less •apt to be resented by an audience than 
a fifteen word leader, because, ^letter seems a part of the'action 
and not an intrusion, but this T should not be taken to mean that, 
every time you need to explain something a character should sit 
down and drop a line to someone else. You can escape a leader 
with a letter now and then, but do not try to do so habitually. 
Use the letter or other insert only where it- is clearly indicated 
and the leader where you must. 



50 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

Another point to remember is that when you are rushing 
toward your climax the movement of your action should be as 
rapid as possible and so all explanatory leaders should be used 
in the earlier scenes, straightening out the situations so that 
when you come to your climax you do not have to pause every 
scene or two and make a labored explanation. Keep the last 
third of your action as free as possible from any sort of insert, 
but use an insert if you have to instead of passing over the scene 
that is not clear. 

The leader should be as brief as is possible. It should be 
clipped of all unnecessary words, but at the same time you should 
not trim too much. Be brief, but be fluent. The leader that 
reads easily is better than the shorter sentence that is abrupt and 
rough. Don't take the first thing that comes into your mind. 
Work over and polish the phrase until it is both terse and elegant. 

Suppose that you have a leader that first comes to you as 
"Frank and Jim have a quarrel over May Morgan." 

In the first place you do not need the last word. May is as 
good as the full name for our purpose. The word "have" is 
more or less useless. "Frank and Jim quarrel about May," cuts 
it down to six words. But we can see that Frank and Jim are 
the disputants. "The quarrel over May" is all you need. You 
can see that it is a quarrel, for that matter, but "over May" is 
not smooth, so the other words are kept to make for ease of 
speech. The four words tell the story, but by using quotation 
marks and letting Jim speak, the words "Let May alone," will 
be ample to explain the situation. 

Perhaps you have something like "Bess refuses Count Casimir's 
proposal of marriage, telling him that she will give her heart 
only to an American." 

You know Bess and the Count. You see that he proposes 
and is refused. The only point to be explained is that Bess 
wants an American. Again use the quotation marks and "I will 
marry only an American" tells the whole story. If you want 
to keep the audience guessing until the last moment you can use 
it as a cut-in leader, or you can run it before the scene if you do 
not want to hold back the fact. 

The quoted leader is handy, but it should not be used too 
much, and there is a growing tendency to use two and even three 
cut-in leaders in one scene. A straight leader and one cut-in 
is about the limit. A leader or a cut-in, but not both, should 
suffice. 

There was a time when the comedy leader was cut out on the 
ground that it was not needed, but now most Editors will pass 
a leader if it gives a laugh. Surely a five foot leader with 3 



LEADERS AND INSERTED MATTER 51 

laugh is as well worth while as a thirty foot scene with one 
laugh, provided that the laugh leader is not used more than twice 
and preferably only once in a half reel comedy. 

It is good practise for both beginner and the advanced student 
to spend spare moments in taking ten and twelve word leaders 
and reducing them to four or five words. 

But the leader can also be used to "break" scenes as where a 
day or a week or a year elapses between two scenes, possibly 
both played in the same setting. Here the leader is a drop cur- 
tain and "The next day" is as effective a break as the curtain 
would be. In using time leaders try and get a variety of phrases. 
Do not say "The next day" three or four times in the same script. 
Use "The next day," the first time and then "In the morning" 
or "The following night," or whatever it may be. "The next week," 
"A few days later." "As time goes on," "With the passing days" 
and similar expressions will greatly aid in varying the monotony. 

The time leader can be used to break scenes, but it is better, 
where possible, to break with another scene if the time is short. 
Taking scenes eight and ten in the script in chapter six, we 
might play them as eight and nine by writing in a leader. "A 
few hours later. John completes his invention," but since we 
can use the scene with Nell and her father, which is all action, 
it is much better. 

In the same way you must break scenes where the action can- 
not long continue without growing tiresome. The heroine goes 
to her room to change her dress. We cannot remain and watch 
her, yet the action cannot continue until the change has been 
made. She starts to change, we cut to the hero waiting for her, 
come back to see her ready dressed, and the action goes on. 
As a leader we might say "Nell changes her dress," but the 
cut-back is better. It is a matter of judgment when to use a 
leader and when to cut-back to cover. 

Letters and telegrams are largely used, the telegram being used 
where possible because of the brevity due to the' cost per word. 
Common sense must tell the author when to use a letter and 
when a telegram may be substituted. 

If the letter is to be used, it is often better to use a paragraph 
from a letter than the entire letter. No girl, for instance, would 
write : 

Dear Jane: 

The wealthy John Smith will visit your town next week. 
Lovingly, 

Sadie. 

That would be absurd, but no more absurd than some of the 
letters we actually see on the screen. This would look much 
better: 



52 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

so do hurry up and write. ' ; <l ' . • • 

Lovingly,, 

Sadie 

P. S- — The rich John Smith will visit Hampton next week. He's a greii 
catch, but a wary fish. .;! 

That gives the whole point without suggesting that it is mote 
than a casual mention. 

In telegrams it is not necessary to give the markings, but it is 
necessary to give the address and the signature. You do not 
write : 



On screen- Telegram- ' '.;<"■•■ 

Come at once. Your mother is dead. '.) ?-«n ol ' ' 

Give the complete form all ready to be transcribed and save the 
director the trouble of thinking up a name and address. Write it: 

On screen- Telegram- 

HENRY HARRISON, 

1193 Fourth Avenue, 
New York City, 



Come at once. Your mother died last night. 



FATHER. 



Now all the director has to do is to copy this off onto the leader 
sheet and send it to that department. 

In forming your addresses do not use an actual address. There 
is no number so high as 1193 in Fourth Avenue, New York City, 
which is why it is used. If you want an address on Fifth Avenue 
take the number of the Public Library. For a downtown address 
on Broadway Trinity Church or St. Paul's Chapel would be better 
than some live number. The same applies to other cities. 
I Newspaper paragraphs or extracts from books serve their 
purpose well. For an extract from a book simply give sufficient 
of the text. For a newspaper paragraph copy the style of some 
paper. 

The headline is easier than the paragraph, but you cannot head- 
line a paragraph or paragraph a two column story: In any case 
give the full text instead of writing: 



On screen- Newspape.r paragraph telling that John has heen 
ordered to report for sea duty. 



Do the work yourself and get it just right. Put it more like this. 



LEADERS AND INSERTED MATTER 53 

On screen- Newspaper clipping. 

Lieutenant John Bergen, U.S.N. , who has been spend- 
ing his shore leave with his parents in this city, 
left last night to rejoin his ship, which leaves the 
Brooklyn Navy Yard this morning. 

The paragraph does nicely for facts of no great news interest, 
but the headline should be used for the big events. If your hero's 
father is plain John Brown, his death would be announced in 
three lines in the death notices, but if he was John Fleming, 
head of the Mousetrap Trust, his death would be "played up" 
more like this: 

On screen- Two column head- 
Millionaire John Fleming 

Discovered Dead in His Bed 
Powerful head of industrial trust dies in solitude in his 
palatial home. 

Quarrel with His Daughter Recalled 

Marriage of his only child to her riding instructor be- 
lieved to have hastened magnate's death. 

This will be set up precisely like a news head and when it is 
thrown on the screen enough will be shown to advise the audi- 
ence that when Mary picks the paper up she reads of her 
father's death. Only that fact is essential, but give the whole of 
the head, for the first two lines will not fill the frame and you 
must give a little more than enough to fill a space one-third 
wider than it is high. The frame is one inch by three-quarters 
and the head must be proportioned to the space. If you cannot 
write your head offhand, select some headline in a daily paper 
that will suit and copy the style. 

Legal papers and similar instruments can be shown as the para- 
graph in the preceding chapter or only the back endorsed with 
the facts may be shown. If you want to show that it is John's 
life insurance papers, you show a hand clutching the paper, the 
writing on the back shows what it is. 

For pictorial inserts such as lockets, you describe the article 
with sufficient fullness, but do not give unnecessary details. 
You do not, for example, say that the locket is a gold locket set 
with diamonds and with a monogram on the back when you do 
not show the back at all, but merely the inside with Jack's 
picture. Instead you write: 

On screen- Locket showing Jack's picture. 



54 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

If you need a certain shape of locket, such as an oval, a heart 
-or a circle, you say so, but do not say the locket must be an 
inch and a half long when you show only the locket. If a hand 
holds the locket it must be to scale, but if the locket alone is 
shown, the property man may' take a large picture of the player 
and mould a plaster locket around an eight by ten print. It will 
photograph better and come out better on the screen. 

Do not be too fussy about your inserts, and do not draw a lot 
of designs. Indicate clearly what you want and leave the rest 
to the director. He will do his best. Do not send photographs, 
drawings or other things that may be needed. If you call for 
something that the studio cannot possibly get, make a note to 
the effect that you can supply the article free on request. 

Not long ago a verse from the Koran was wanted in a script 
and the author offered to send a copy for reproduction, giving at 
the same time the verse and sura of the text in his script. What 
he got on the screen was a page from an Arabic Koran followed 
by the translation, a much more effective insert than he had 
thought to suggest. The director, as a rule, is more anxious than 
you to give a good production. If he is not, your over-anxiety 
will not help, anyway. 



CHAPTER VIII 

A STUDY OF THE SYNOPSIS 

The vital importance of the synopsis — the great appeal to 
the editor — the opportunity for literary style — how to 
condense and retain the story. 

In Chapter V a part of the space was given to the synopsis and 
its function, since the synopsis is a part of the photoplay form, 
but the importance of this division of the photoplay warrants 
more careful and exhaustive treatment than can be given in part 
of a chapter. 

The synopsis, as has been said, is the means of attracting the 
attention of the Editor. It is the synopsis, as a rule, that sells the 
story or is the cause of failure. If the synopsis is snappy and 
attractive, it will catch the Editor's attention. If it is dull and 
sluggish it is not likely to interest him. It may partly tell a story 
that does get his attention, and he may read the plot of action for 
the complete narrative, but he will not turn to the action already 
half convinced that this is the story that he wants. He will be 



A STUDY OF THE SYNOPSIS 55 

hopeful, perhaps, but it will be with no assurance that he turns 
the pages over. He is apt to afgue that the person who cannot 
write a good synopsis cannot write a good plot of action. This 
may not be the fact, but it is so generally true that the exceptions 
do not count. 

A man may be able to cut a tremendous gash in a tree with a 
single stroke of the axe and yet have his strength fail him before 
the tree is felled or lack the skill to properly direct his strokes, 
but as a rule the man who makes the best single cut is the one 
most likely to be able to chop down the tree with the greatest 
skill and in the shortest time. 

So it is with the synopsis. The Editor is apt to argue that 
if the synopsis is good the story must be good, but that the dull 
synopsis advertises the poor story. 

The fact that the story must be held to 250 words seems to 
cause beginners much trouble and it sometimes happens that in 
worrying about the length they fail to do their best in telling the 
story. It is better to overwrite and then cut down than to try 
and write to the limit the first time. Later on you will catch the 
trick and be able to get two or three reels into 250 words, but 
until you reach this point, do not be afraid to waste several sheets 
of trial paper getting the synopsis just right. 

To study the work of making the synopsis, suppose we take the 
Lubin story of From Ignorance to Light. Here is the manu- 
script of the story as it was written with the original title. 

FOR THE WRONG MAN'S SAKE. 
Action. 

1- Atmospheric picture- characteristic spot- Mary, with hare 
feet, in a skimpy calico gown, leans against a tree- Paul 
and a couple of other men pass- Paul raises his hat with 
exaggerated courtesy- make it plain that he does not know 
the girl- he passes on- Mary looks after him- Jack comes 
from the direction in which Paul and the others made exit 
he speaks courteously- Mary responds, but her interest 

is in Paul, and as she speaks she glances after him- Jack 
passes on- Mary does not look after him, but turns her 
back on direction he took to watch Paul. 

Leader- A few days later. The visitor decides to amuse himself 
with the country girl. 

2- Location- Mary on- loafing in the sun- she sits up as 
Paul and others approach- Paul stops- she is embarrassed 
but eager to gain his attention- Paul stops- chats a 
moment- the others urge him to come on- he tells them to 



56 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

go without him- they exit- he suggests a stroll- Mary, all 
eagerness, springs up- exits down path diagonal to 
camera- Jack comes in- sees them- stands watching a 
moment- shakes his head a moment- registers his concern- 
passes on. 

3- Location- Paul and Mary stroll in- Mary completely ab- 
sorbed in Paul- she pauses- points off- Paul glances at 
watch- shakes head- tries to detain her- she refuses- 
starts to run off- he catches her- brings her back- wants 
a kiss- she refuses- he urges- steals one- she is angry 
and yet glad- goes slowly out of scene- he looks after 
her- laughs- exits in opposite direction. 

Leader- The next day. 

4- Same as No. 3- Mary on- watching- impatient- looks off 
right and left- Paul steals in from rear- puts hands over 
her eyes- she guesses who it is- he claims kiss- she gives 
it to him, shyly- they exit out of picture. 

Leader- And the next. 

5- Same as No. 2- Mary watching- Paul enters- they start to 
exit- Jack enters- speaks- Mary gives him a happy little 
smile- immediately engrossed with Paul- passes out of 
scene- Jack clenches hands- looks after them- regains con- 
trol of himself- passes on. 

6- Spot- Paul and Mary stroll in- Paul takes book from 
pocket- offers it to Mary- she is embarrassed- shakes 
head- he does not understand- persists in offering it- 
she hangs head- speaks: 

Cut in leader- "I can't read." 

Back to scene- Paul surprised- Mary perceives his aston- 
ishment- begins to cry- he pets her- coaxes her- smiles- 
they exit slowly. 

7- Location as in No. 3- Paul and Mary enter- Paul kisses 
her- she exits- he looks after her a moment- laughs- 
Gertrude enters- greetings- they exit together- Mary 
returns into scene- looks after them- jealous*- steals 
after them. 

8- Location- Paul and Gertrude enter- sit- chat- Mary steals 
into background- Paul takes book from pocket- offers it 

to Gertrude- she takes- looks it over- Paul tells of Maryr 
Mary shows she is subject of conversation- steals off. 

Leader- The Awakening- "Make me educated- like her." 

$~ Spot showing No, 8 in background- Jack enters-- Mary 



A STUDY OF THE SYNOPSIS 57 

comes stumbling through the brush- crying- Jack stops her- 
she speaks leader- points to Gertrude and Paul- Jack 
understands- leads her off. 

Leader- The schoolmaster educates Mary for bis rival's sake. 

10- Jack's home- neat cottage- table and bench in yard- he and 
Mary come in- she is more like a child with Jack- he 
gives her book and slate- they sit- she takes first 
lesson. 

11- Same as No. 8- Paul and Gertrude rise- he tries to make 
love- she stops him- they exit. 

Leader- The next day. 

12- Location as in No. 2- Paul comes in- looks about him- 
tacks envelope to tree with a pin- glances at watch- 
exits. 

13- Spot as in No. 6- Paul passes through scene- overtakes 
Gertrude- they exit together. 

14- Location as in No. 2- Mary comes running in- late- looks 
about- worried- sees letter- opens- shakes head- cannot 
read- runs off. 

15- Jack's home, as in No. 10- Jack on- Mary comes in with her 
letter- offers Jack the opened sheet- he reads: 

On screen- letter. 

"Sorry I could not wait, but I am hurrying home. I will 
see you next year. PAUL." 

Back to scene- Mary cries- Jack comforts her. 

Leader- As the days go by. 

16- Location as in No. 2- Mary studying book- hard work- Jack 
enters- sits beside her- all eagerness, she snuggles up 
beside him to explain her difficulties- looks down at 
bare feet- realizes for the first time that they ARE bare- 
raises one and inspects it critically- speaks- Jack nods- 
offers money- Mary shakes head- has idea- runs off, 

17- Mary's home- not as good as Jack's- Mary comes in- mother 
working embroidery- Mary begs her to teach her- mother 
surprised- starts to teach- Mary very much interested. 

13- Back to No. 16- Jack rouses out of brown study- picks up 
book that Mary dropped- kisses it- shows mental unrest- 
rises- exits. 

19* Back to No. 17- Mary hard at work- Jack enters- gives her 
book- she thanks him- speaks: 



58 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

Cut in leader- "When Paul comes back I can read and write and 
dress like other girls." 

20- Back to scene- Mary happy in the thought- it hurts Jack, 
but he hides his emotion- exits. 

Leader- Three months later. 

21- Jack's home- Jack on- at table- Mary enters- now trimly 
dressed, with shoes and stockings- carries books- sits- 
starts to study with Jack- not so free in her manner with 
him- there is a certain reserve- little girl not too 
young (about 12) enters- gives Jack letter- he thanks her- 
she puts up her face for a kiss- he kisses her carelessly- 
Mary half rises- angry- child exits- Jack turns- sur- 
prised- Mary controls herself- they continue studies- Mary 
can't work- shakes head- registers that she has headache- 
rises- says good bye- Jack takes her hand- pats it 
encouragingly- she snatches it away- runs from scene- 
Jack surprised- follows slowly. 

22- Location as in No. 8- Mary comes in- all upset- sits- 
thinks hard- Jack comes into background- advances slowly- 
speaks- wants to know what the matter is- Mary hangs 
head- Jack urges- puts arms about her in a brotherly sort 
of way- Mary snatches back- then comes slowly into his - 
arms again- hides face a mament- speaks: 

Cut in leader- "Can't you see! It's you- not him." 

Back to scene- Jack sees. 

We'll overlook the fact that it is a very bad plan to have a cut 
in leader in the last scene and discuss the synopsis. 

This play was written for George O. Nicholls, a personal friend, 
and the synopsis was rather more brief than is altogether advis- 
able in usual practice, but at the same time it told all of the story. 
It read: 

Mary Monson, a country girl, is attracted by Paul Lang- 
ford, who is spending his winter in the South. For his 
sake she learns to read and write and is willing to work 
to earn money for proper clothes. The educational side is 
looked after by Jack Hardy, the schoolmaster, who himself 
loves Mary. He thinks he is educating her to make her 
fit to marry his rival, but Mary suddenly discovers that 
the right man is Jack. 



A STUDY OF THE SYNOPSIS 59 

This runs but sixty-seven words, yet the full story is told and 
many editors would buy a story on that synopsis even if they did 
not know the author who wrote it. 

But suppose that this had been written by a beginner who la- 
bored under the belief that everything must be put down. He 
might start it off this way: 

Mary Monson is a country girl. One day Paul Langford passes 
her and is attracted by her beauty. The schoolmaster passes and 
speaks to her, but she has eyes only for Paul. The next day they 
meet again and this time Paul asks her to take a walk with him. 
She does so. They walk through the woods until Mary discovers 
that it is time for her to go home. Paul wants her to kiss him 
good bye. She says no, but Paul runs after her and brings her 
back and kisses her. Next day they meet again and this time she 
does not mind being kissed. They go for another walk and pass 
Jack the schoolmaster, who also loves Mary. He is very angry 
when he sees them together, but he does not say anything. Paul 
offers Mary a book to read. Mary does not know how to read 
and she is very much ashamed when she has to tell him so. She 
starts to go home and Gertrude, a beautiful young lady, who is a 
friend of Paul's comes along and she and Paul go for a walk. 
Mary is jealous and follows them. Paul gives Gertrude the book 
that Mary could not read and tells her how Mary could not read 
it. Gertrude reads the book. Mary runs away and meets the 
schoolmaster, Jack, and asks him to teach her how to read like 
Gertrude can. Jack says he will so he takes her to his home where 
he gives her a slate and a book and she begins to study. The 
next day Mary is late meeting Paul and he leaves her a note say- 
ing that he is going away and will see her next year. Mary can- 
not read the note, of course, so she takes it to the schoolmaster. 
who reads it for her. She studies very hard and learns how to 
read and write. She also discovers that she has no shoes and 
stockings so she learns how to do embroidery so as to get the 
money for shoes and stockings, which she does. Then she finds 
that she loves Jack instead of Paul so she tells him so and he 
hugs and kisses her. 

This may sound amusing, but it is precisely the sort of synopsis 
that comes into the studio day after day. All of this detail does 
not interest the Editor. The point of the story is that big 
hearted Jack, for the sake of the woman he loves, sets aside his 
own longing and tries to fit her to be the wife of another. That 
is about all there is to the story, in its last analysis. There is 
plenty of action, but the essential plot is contained in that single 
sentence, "He thinks that he is educating her to make her fit to 



60 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

marry h ; s rival, but Mary suddenly discovers that the right man 
is Jack." Writing for the stranger editor, that fact should be the 
first advanced. That is the punch, the education of the girl for 
the sake of her happiness though the act makes it possible for her 
to marry the other man. Start your synopsis with that. 

All the time thinking that he is fitting her to marry his rival, 
Jack Hardy teaches Mary Monson to read and write, setting 
aside his own hopes of happiness for the sake of hers. 

That is an interesting proposition and commands the editorial 
attention. To employ a current phrase, "You've got him going." 
You have interested him and he will read the synopsis with the 
idea that it is what he wants, and he is only reading to make 
certain. Now that you have the story advanced, give some of the 
detail. ' 

Paul Langford is wintering in the south. He chances upon 
Mary, whose comely face wins his passing interest. (Her open 
admiration renders an introduction unnecessary and) Paul finds 
her simple charm attractive. He is surprised to learn that she 
cannot read when he offers to loan her the novel he is reading, 
and when Mary sees him give the book to a woman guest of the 
hotel, she turns to Jack and begs that he will teach her to read 
and write that she may be fit to marry Paul. Jack assents. Paul 
is called away (but promises to return the following year and), 
Mary turns diligently to her studies that she may be prepared for 
his coming. (Growing education brings to her a sense of the un- 
fitness of her dress and for the first time she evinces an in- 
terest in sewing, making embroidery that she may gain money for 
clothes.) The intimacy with the schoolteacher insensibly brings a 
change of heart. Mary does not realize it until one day she sees 
him kiss a little girl, one of his pupils. It is only a child, but 
jealousy flames in her heart and for the first time she realizes that 
it is Jack whom she loves. She rushes from the scene. Jack, fol- 
lowing more slowly, seeks to know the cause of her agitation and 
against his shoulder she breathes the soft confession that it is he 
whom she loves. The sadness of the past few months is wiped 
out in the joy of that knowledge. 

That is 289 words. By eliminating the words in parenthesis 
marks the synopsis is reduced to 250 words. A little study will 
show that these are the words least essential to the story. The 
fact that she gets new clothes is not as important as the dis- 
covery of her love through the kisses given the child, but were it 
desired to cut still further, the description of that scene could be 
dropped with no great harm. 

Let your story run as full as you will, using only the more im- 
portant action and ignoring completely the run of the scenes. 



A STUDY OF THE SYNOPSIS 61 

Count your words and find out how much you must eliminate. 
Now go over your rough draft carefully and see what you can 
best spare. Lightly underscore with a pencil the passages that are 
not necessary. Now count the number of words in these pas- 
sages. If you have taken out enough, cross them off, close up the 
breaks and clean copy. If you haye marked too much, leave 
some of it in if it really interests, but remember that the Editor 
wants to know what the story is about rather than precisely what 
each scene contains. If he wishes the latter information he will 
turn to ; the plot of action. 

It is not absolutely necessary that you tell your synopsis with 
literary skjll, but if you are able to write, this is the one place in 
your sjcript, where fine /writing is not only permissible but desir- 
able- : i¥oui cannot do very much fine writing in 250 words, but 
you can -work over and polish your phrases until you have suc- 
ceeded in getting something that is almost like a prose poem. 
Even if you cannot 1 write in polished phrase you can and should 
acquire a reasonably fluent style. Do not chop the story up into 
four and five word sentences nor on the other hand use too in- 
volved a phrase. Both are bad. Do not, for example, say : 

Jack loves Mary. Mary loves Paul. Paul is amusing himself 
with Mary. She asks Jack to teach her to write. He does so. 
He thinks she is going to marry Paul. When he is done teaching 
he finds he's the man. 

That is bad, but no worse tfran this : 

Jack, a young country schqqlmaster, loves Mary, a simple coun- 
try maiden, but Mary, in her turn, loves Paul, a visitor from the 
North, though Paul does not love Mary, but merely seeks to win 
her love, that he may amuse himself, because he really intends to 
marry Gertrude, who has come south with her mother and is also 
a guest at the hotel where Paul is stopping, though Mary does 
not know this and Jack is equally ignorant of the fact. 

If you find that you have trouble in expressing yourself, forget 
that you are writing a story. Pretend that you are writing Tom 
Jones a letter telling him about the story you have just done. 
You want to tell him in a few words what the plot of the story is. 
Go ahead and do it, then discard the letter part and you will have 
a synopsis. Sometimes the beginner is frightened out of his ex- 
pression by the thought that he must write a story; like an Eng- 
lish barmaid who could pour a little vermouth into a glass of gin 
and bitters, but who could not do it properly after she was told 
that she had mixed : a martini cocktail. Just write the letter and 
then take out the part you want. 

Don't be afraid to "waste time in getting your synopsis just 
right Nine-tenths of your; sale will be made on your synopsis and 



62 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

sometimes on just a line or two from that synopsis. You may not 
be able to write as well as you might wish, but there is absolutely 
nothing to prevent you from getting into the synopsis the strong 
point of your story. You will get more money if your story is 
properly divided into scenes, but if your synopsis shows a really 
strong and original idea, and that idea is suitable for use by the 
company to which it is submitted, a sale will follow. 

Go carefully through your story and discover ithe real punch. 
Find out precisely what it is that makes an appeal to you and 
then write that in so that it will present itself to the Editor in the 
best possible light. Add such other detail as your space affords, 
but if you need, if you really need the whole space to tell about 
the punch use it for the punch alone. The Editor has no time to 
search your plot of action. He turns to the synopsis to find your 
story there. Put there what you most desire that he should see 
and leave the rest in the plot of action. If you have put enough in 
the front page to gain his interest, you will have insured the 
reading of the entire script. 



CHAPTER IX 

CONDENSING THE SCRIPT 

Keeping the action short — aim to tell much in few words — 
the reason for terseness — needless explanation — by-play 
and the real action. 

It should be the aim of the writer not so much to have each 
scene run not more than four or five lines as not to need a 
greater number of words to fully explain the action. Just as the 
leaderless script is one in which leader is not needed rather than 
one in which leader is not shown, so the terse script is one that 
needs no more words rather than the short scene that needs more 
to fully convey the ideas to the director. 

The object to be aimed at is not brevity alone, but brevity with 
clearness. It is better to write, more fully and get the idea over 
than to write the brief but obscure script, and it is probable that 
at first the scripts of the novice will run too full. It is better to 
let them run what they will until a growing familiarity of action 
enables the writer to condense. 

The need for this condensation is two-fold. The simple direc- 
tion is less confusing to the director and at the same time gives 
point to the action and throws it into relief. The average director 
can get a better idea of a short scene from three lines of typewrit- 



CONDENSING THE SCRIPT 63 

ing than from thirty, for with the greater lengths there will be 
much that is unnecessary and redundant. 

Let us suppose that Jack and Tom meet and that Tom suggests 
to Jack that they go and see Harry. The meeting takes place on 
the street. A person not familiar with photoplay form might be 
expected to write it something like this: 

7- A street corner, showing a handsome house in the rear 
with a lawn in front. In the distance Jack is seen 
approaching, walking along briskly and swinging his cane. 
Just before he gets to the corner Tom comes in from the 
opposite direction. He and Jack see each other and smile. 
As they come closer Jack shakes hands with Tom and they 
both turn and face the camera. They talk for a few 
minutes, and finally Tom suggests to Jack that they go 
and see Harry. Jack says he doesn't mind, so Tom turns 
back and he and Jack come walking toward the camera, 
talking and laughing. They pass out of the scene. 

Now all of this is a part of the action of the scene, but very 
little of it is essential to the telling of the story. It would be 
just as possible to play this scene in front of a brick house setting 
flush with the sidewalk, in front of a saloon or store or in front of 
a vacant lot. That there is a handsome house in the rear of the 
scene is not essential to the story, though it makes for a land- 
scape effect. 

The director, far more than the author, is alive to the necessity 
for pretty backgrounds where they are to be had. Without need- 
ing to be told, he will procure the best background he can obtain 
without too much trouble. This, then, will leave merely the street 
corner. 

But why the street corner? The action would be as plain if 
the meeting occurred in the middle of the block. That still fur- 
ther cuts it down. We say simply "street" instead of street cor- 
ner. It is not very important that we gain a word here, but it is 
important that we reduce the direction to its simplest form, for 
now the director sees that the corner has nothing to do with the 
meeting. In the middle of the block there may be a house vastly 
superior to one to be found on any corner. He could tell from the 
full script that it did not have to be on a corner, but he has more 
important matters to consider than this and the more simple di- 
rection will be better and so we say "Street" and let it go at that, 
Nothing more is needed. It is not always possible to say merely 
that it is a street scene. It may be that the scene would lose 
force if it were not played in the business section instead of a 



64 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

street suggestive of the suburbs. In such a case ask for precisely 
the sort of street you want. Say it is a "business: street," "resi- 
dential street," "street in suburbs," "village street," or whatever 
you want, but when you have just a street and any street will 
do, the producer will naturally pick a place where he is making 
the rest of the exteriors. 

We have cut sixteen words down to one, but that is just as a 
starter. It is not important that Jack swings his cane or even 
that he carries one. Maybe he will have one and perhaps the pro- 
ducer will tell him to swing it, but if he doesn't swing the cane or 
even have it, it will be just as good a scene. In a story you tell 
about the swinging cane becausei it helps. to create in the mind of 
the reader the picture Of Jack coming down the street, but here 
you have a real picture. You L Se% Jack coming down the street 
with the eye and not with the tnind. It is not necessary to cre- 
ate the mental picture as it would he in fiction, because you have 
here the physical and not merely the mental picture. 

Suppose that the director used your stage directions and had 
them talk "a couple of minutes." How much of a picture do you 
Suppose he would get if the whole play were planned along the 
same generous lines? With two minutes for a chat you .would 
have half the audience asleep. That sort of/Jstuff simply clogs up 
the script. Let's try and do better than that!, 

7- Street- Jack comes walking down the street. As he comes , 
close to the camera Tom enters from the opposite side. 
They smile at each other, shake hands and chat., Tom 
suggests that they go down to see Harry, Jack is willing 
and they come toward the camera, passing out. of the scene. 

That's a lot better because it is shorter, but it is not short 
enough yet. It should be possible to do: .even better. Let' us study 
the script again. Let's find out just what this scene means. 

What we are trying to show is this : Jack and Tom go to see 
Harry. ! They do not deliberately plan to meet and go to see him. 
It i happens that they meet and that. Tom suggests that they go 
arid see hirii. That makes what happens at Harry's stronger than 
if they had planned to be there. That is the reason' why we show 
the chance meeting on the street instead of simply having them 
come to Harry's house. It is an accidental meeting. We can see 
that because one is not waiting for the other by appointment. 
'JFhey just happen to come together. Now that's all we need to 
tell the director. Let's tell him just .that. He knows perfectly 
well how two men will act when they are walking along the street. 
He can do all that stuff himself, but he can't know that unless, we 



CONDENSING THE SCRIPT 65 

tell him, because he didn't write the story. Put down just what 
you need. Something like this, perhaps: 

7- Street- Jack and Tom meet. They shake hands and chat. 
Tom suggests that they go and see Harry. Jack agrees. 
They pass out of the scene. 

That's shorter yet, and still it's so plain that the director knows 
just wihat we want to get. We have the meeting and the sugges- 
tion of the visit. Perhaps we can do better yet. Let's try it. 
This time we'll drop the punctuation and try that scheme of using 
hyphens. We will get something that looks like this: 

7- Street- Jack and Tom meet- greetings- Tom speaks- Jack 
assents- they exit. 

That is one line of typewriting instead of nine that we had in 
the first place. That's a little different, isn't it? We have taken 
away none of the essential action, the action that tells the story, 
but we have removed a lot of useless direction that any director 
knows enough to put in himself. 

When he comes to handle this scene he will look it over. At 
a glance he sees that this is the scene where Jack and Tom meet. 
That's all he needs to know. He tells the players wihat to do. 
They do it and pass on to the next scene. 

Suppose that the scene is a wedding. We do not have to write 
half a. page telling how the stage is set and how the ceremony is 
performed and all that sort of thing. Suppose that what we are 
trying to show is that Paul comes down the aisle with Mary on 
his arm and shrinks back as he passes Gertrude, whom he de- 
serted for Mary. That is a telling situation, but it does not need 
many words. We do not have to tell that a ribbon is run along 
the pews to hold the guests back until the bridal party has passed. 
We do not have to describe how the bridal party acts, what the 
minister does and all that. All we need to say is that Gertrude is 
all broken up and that she faces Paul. 

Now it will be effective to show Gertrude during the ceremony 
and as they come down the aisle, but that would take too much 
film, because we should have to show a part of the ceremony and 
then the march down the aisle. It would be better to first show 
Gertrude taking her place in the pew. This scene gives the sug- 
gestion that something is going to happen. We cannot leave her 
sitting there. We will have to break. Perhaps we show a flash 
of Mary getting out of the carriage. Now we have her come- 



66 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

down the aisle and past Gertrude. At the far end slhe meets 
Paul, and they start to get married. It's going to be pretty hard 
to cut from that, because there isn't much to cut back to, but we 
must do something to get out of the church or else show the en- 
tire ceremony, if only a brief one. 

Perhaps earlier in the picture we showed that Sam wants to 
marry Gertrude. Perhaps we can cut to Sam wondering what 
effect the marriage will have on his chances. Now we go back 
to the church and give Gertrude a chance to show her emotion. 
We go back to Sam again for a moment and come back to the 
church as the bridal party passes down the aisle. For a moment 
Paul is staggered as he sees Gertrude but he pulls himself to- 
gether and passes on. 

Here we have done two sorts of condensation. We have cut 
down the number of words by not telling all about the church 
and we have cut down the length of action by showing seven 
scenes instead of one. All seven do not use up as much film as 
the long service would, and yet we have come to the church each 
time there was an important and essential phase in the action. 



CHAPTER X 

PLOT FORMATION 

Incident is not plot — story must have an object — the happy 
ending — only one leading character — the need for strug- 
gle — sources of plots. 

In the preceding pages a working knowledge of photoplay form 
has been gained, but photoplay form is merely the means to an 
end and not the end itself. Photoplay form enables the author 
to present his story in its most attractive guise of perfect work- 
manship, but if there is no story to be presented, the elaborate 
care bestowed upon form will avail the author nothing. Form 
is the flesh, the idea is the spirit; the soul that vivifies and gives 
life to the flesh. The photoplay is a story told in action and a 
story is no more than a plot. 

Most beginners are too prone to regard connected incident as a^ 
plot. So that the action follows from one incident to another 
they are content, not realizing that the plot is that which makes 
these connected incidents a story by giving those incidents some 
reason for being shown. 



PLOT FORMATION 67 

Suppose it occurs to you that you can make a capital comedy of 
the trials of a book agent. There are all sorts of chances for fun 
in what happens to a book salesman, so you string a lot of these 
funny things together and regard your work with satisfaction. 
You've been told that a comedy story must have plenty of action 
and humorous action, at that, so this must be a good story be- 
cause it is just full of funny things. 

The book agent starts out in the morning. He is kicked out 
of an office, is chased from a house by an irate housewife armed 
with a broom, he is doused with water at another place, and so 
it goes for twenty or thirty scenes, according to how your in- 
ventiveness holds out. 

All your friends have laughed themselves sick over the funny 
things you've written, and they will assure you that it is a 
better story than those they see on the screen, but not one of 
them knows enough, probably, to tell you that it isn't a story at 
all, and probably you would not believe the man who said such a 
thing, yet it is no more a story than is the multiplication table. 
You do not have to stop at twelve times twelve. You can run it 
up to forty-two times twelve or a hundred and eighteen times 
twelve and still have a million times twelve to look forward to. 
A multiplication table has a start, but practically no ending, and 
so has this story. You can write forty scenes or sixty or six hun- 
dred and still arrive at no definite ending, and a story must have 
a beginning, a middle and an end. That's been the standard defi- 
nition of a play for centuries and it holds as good today as the 
day it was written. 

This story has a start, because we see the man is a book agent 
and he wants to sell his books. It has no finish because he is 
not working toward some definite end. He may keep on want- 
ing to sell books to the day of his death. That would end the 
story, but we could keep on putting in funny things — if we 
can think of enough — to run the story up to a million feet. 

The story must not only have a start, but an objective point. 
Now we'll take this book agent and write a real story about him. 
The agent is Tim Green and John Smith kicks him out of his 
office. That kick is the start of the story we are going to write, 
because Tim gets angry and vows that he'll sell Smith a copy of 
that book if it takes him a year. Now there is the story, the 
story of how Tim sells a book to Smith. When he makes the 
sale or gives it up it ends. Here we have the three requisites, 
the start, or beginning, which is that Smith kicks Tim out of his 
office ; the middle, or the efforts Tim makes to sell the book ; and 
the end, or climax, which may be either that he does sell the 
book or gives up his attempt. 



68 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

Tim gets kicked out of the office and vows revenge. Next 
morning he is sitting on Smith's steps as Smith leaves for the 
office. Smith kicks Tim off the steps and takes a car for the 
office. Tim takes a taxicab and gets there first He is waiting 
for Smith in front of the office building. He pushes his way 
into Smith's office a little later and when Smith kicks him out 
again he tries to crawl through the transom. Smith has the 
transom nailed down and Tim calls him on the telephone. Smith 
has the telephone connection cut. Tim walks along the cornice 
and so into the open window. Smith throws him out of the 
window. All day long Tim pursues Smith, and follows him home 
at night. Smith steals out the back way and goes to his club, 
leaving Tim on the steps. Smith has a good time at the club 
and rolls home about two in the morning with a couple of com- 
panions. Tim is asleep on the steps. He wakes and not only 
sells Smith the book, but he sells one to each of his friends. 

Can you see now how giving Tim an object to work for has 
made something of a story out of mere incident? Before we 
simply laughed when something happened to Tim, because it 
looked funny. Now there is a mental appeal as well. We are 
interested in Tim. We want to see him sell that book to Smith. 
Every time Tim meets a rebuff we are sorry for him even while 
we laugh and when, at last, he sells the book we are genuinely 
glad. The plot has given interest to the incidents. In the aim- 
less incident we might see Tim make twenty sales, and they 
would not interest us one-tenth as much as this one sale, because 
this is a story of the sale of that book. 

The story starts with the determination to sell the book and 
stops with the accomplishment of the sale. It might run on and 
on and tell how Smith acted when he woke the next morning 
and realized what he had done, how the books were delivered 
and all that, but this is the story of the sale of the book and 
stops when the sale is accomplished. Tim has sold other books 
and will sell others in the future, but they have nothing to <Jo 
with the story. 

But if we were telling the story of Tim Green and how he 
came to the city and made enough money selling books to pay off 
the mortgage on the old home, the sale of that book to Smith 
would be only a part of the story. The sale of books to Jones 
and Brown and Black and White would also be parts of the 
story, for this story has a different plot in which the start is 
the fact that Tim determines to pay off the mortgage, the mid- 
dle is the sale of the books, which enables him to do so; and the 
end is the payment of the mortgage money. The story of the 



PLOT FORMATION 69 

sale to Jones and Brown and Black and White, might all be made 
a story, the same as was the sale of the book to Smith, but 
the object aimed at determines the value of each incident and 
the five sales would merely be parts of the story, the same as all 
the other sales, which might have been shown or merely 
suggested. 

Every story, whether it be comedy or drama, farce or tragedy, 
deals with the encountering of some obstacle. If the obstacle 
is overcome, the story is said to have a happy ending. If defeat 
is met with it is said to have an unhappy ending. 

At the first reading this may sound like too broad a statement. 
You may feel that you have read hundreds of stories that present 
no obstacle, but if you will study them more closely you will 
find that every real story has this element of "struggle" else it 
would not be a real story. The story of the man who has been 
out the night before and wants to keep the fact from his wife 
may seem to possess no struggle, but the statement of the story 
itself presents the struggle. He is struggling to keep the facts 
from his wife. And here is one of the curious points. If you are 
telling the story of how Sam Sprague sought to keep his wife 
from knowing that he was tipsy the night before and tried to 
thrash a policeman, the story has a happy ending if he succeeds. 
But if you take the wife's side, if you make it the story of how 
the wife tried to find out what Sam was up to the night before, 
the story can have a happy ending only if the unfortunate Sam 
is exposed. 

It may seem odd that the same ending may be happy or un- 
happy, as the farce is played, but the reason is plain if you will 
take the trouble to study it out. In the first instance we are 
siding with Sam, hoping that the facts will not come out. In the 
other development we are on the side of the wife and want to 
see Sam exposed. 

There can be only one central character in a story. There is 
a hero and a heroine, as a rule, but there can be but one leading 
character, and as we have seen above this can be either the hero 
or the heroine. The interest should not and generally cannot 
be divided between two persons. 

If the story is a romance with a strong love interest, you will 
not feel equally interested in the man and the girl. Either you 
will want to see a match for the girl's sake or on account of 
the man. In the usual triangle of two women and a man, we 
either want the man to get the woman he desires or we want 
one of the two women to get the man both want. We cannot 
sit on and watch the struggle without "taking sides" unless the 
story is so badly told as not to interest us at all. 



70 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

Take it the other way around. There are two men and a girl. 
She is the central figure. She cannot marry both, but if we are 
interested in her we want her to marry the right one and per- 
haps we feel that we would like to tell her that she is foolish 
to care for John, who has a wife living, when Frank is such 
a fine fellow. Frank is not the central figure, the girl holds our 
interest, but because it is the girl we are interested in, we 
want to see her marry Frank and not the villainous John. The 
clever author will carry the story along with the general sug- 
gestion that she is going to marry John. Now and then it will 
seem that Frank has a chance, but the next scene will show 
John more firmly entrenched that ever. Then, all of a sudden, 
in walks that wife of his and has John arrested for desertion and 
non-support. You can guess what the finish of that story will be. 

If it had seemed all along that Frank would get the girl and 
that John never had a chance, the element of struggle (which is 
more or less another name for suspense) would have been so 
slight that it would scarcely seem a story at all. 

The fully equipped author is like a typist. He knows that to 
strike a certain key will print a certain letter. He strikes three 
keys and gets the word "and"; he strikes three others and gets 
"the." He knows which keys to strike to get certain word 
effects and he strikes these keys almost unconsciously. 

In stories his keyboard is the gamut of human emotions. He 
knows which to strike to secure any desired effect. Sometimes 
his fingers slip and he strikes the wrong key, just as the typist 
does, but the greater the practise the typist has, the more nearly 
correct is the writing, and the same holds true of the keyboard of 
the emotions. 

But to have a plot is not sufficient. This plot must be new 
to command attention. There are very few starting ideas or 
master plots, but the combinations of incident are many, just 
as the twenty-six letters on the typewriter keyboard can produce 
any of the words of any language. It should be the aim to 
get a new combination of incident. 

It is practically impossible to evolve anything that is abso- 
lutely new in every aspect. 

Take for instance the wireless operator on a ship in distress 
who sticks at his post for forty-eight hours summoning to the 
aid of the imperiled passengers. Surely this must be new, be- 
cause the wireless telegraph is a comparatively recent invention. 
The use of the wireless is new, but the master plot is old. 
Almost everyone is familiar with the story of the little boy 
whose tiny hand stopped the trickling flow that averted the 
break in the dike that would have inundated miles of territory, 



PLOT FORMATION 71 

Both stories have the same master plot as have other stories 
dating back through the centuries. 

When a story is returned by an editor with the statement 
that it lacks originality, he does not mean that he demands some- 
thing absolutely new, but that he does require a greater freshness 
of treatment than has been shown. Perhaps the greatest trouble 
that the beginner has is to determine between the old and the 
new. A story seems fresh to him because he has not seen it, 
yet it may have been done on the screen scores of times and in 
manuscript hundreds of times. It may even be a true story ; 
something that happened to you or some friend and yet have 
found its parallel elsewhere. The fact that once, when Uncle 
George was away from home, Aunt Emma thought that bur- 
glars were in the house and found that it was only the cat, 
does not make it impossible that there should have been other 
Aunt Emmas and Uncle Georges and other cats. 

Ninety per cent, of the stories sent into the studio are worth- 
less because they possess no originality, and this applies to true 
stories as well as to the creations of your imagination. Most 
experienced writers avoid the true story as they would the pest; 
not only because it is apt to be not new, but because the pos- 
session of established facts limits the imagination. You try to 
stick to the points of the real story and your imagination is 
cramped. 

Before you cut your literary teeth there are going to be a lot 
of old stories that you are going to write because it would seem 
that every writer must do them at least once. Probably the 
favorite plot of the novice, is the one in which the workman 
(generally he is a drunken workman) loses his job and goes 
to kill his employer. As he steals through the shrubbery he 
sees that the house is afire, or that burglars are about to break 
in, or someone is stealing the employer's little child or the child 
is about to be bitten by a mad dog. Whatever it is, he fixes it up 
and gets a vote of thanks and his job back. That story has 
been written thousands of times and was run on the screen about 
every three months until the public tired of it. 

Then there's the little child that is stolen by the gypsies. 
Twenty years later mother hears a street beggar singing. 
"My God! My daughter's voice!" It is a certainty that you'll 
write one about the little grandchild that wins its grandparents' 
forgiveness for a runaway match. Write it, since you must, but 
do not waste postage on it. If all the little grandchildren that 
"squared" mother or father, and the others that kept mamma and 
papa from getting divorces, were to march in single file, the 
procession would take three days to pass a given point. 



12 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

Mind you, that isn't saying that you cannot write and sell 
a story under the title "A Little Child Shall Lead Them." It 
has been done and perhaps you can do it, too, but remember 
that you have a thousand or more other stories on the same lines 
to beat if you want to make a sale. 

Newspaper paragraphs help to good plots at times if you pick 
the right sort, but lately some of the film stories have been used 
by newspaper correspondents to ''make copy." 

The out of town correspondent in the small places is paid 
by the daily paper only when he has something used. If news is 
scarce he may go to the photoplay theater and send out a con- 
densation of some film story as a news dispatch. It may be 
printed, other papers may copy it and you may pick up the 
plot only to be told that the subject has been used before. 

If you do use clippings take the obscure items. If a Titanic 
sinks, hundreds of stories will be rushed into the studios dealing 
with that subject and it is probable that every one will be re- 
jected. Every big news item is taken by scores and hundreds 
of authors. When Andrew Carnegie interested himself in An- 
drew Toth, a mine worker who had served half a lifetime for a 
crime of which he was innocent, fully five hundred manuscripts 
were written from the idea. None sold because each studio 
was afraid that some other film maker would get out a story on 
the subject first. 

The same paper that told of Toth might have carried a dozen 
good tips. Seek your inspiration from the five or ten line local 
item and let your imagination do the rest. If you can really 
write stories, all your imagination will need is a gentle push to 
get it started. Take an item like this, and see what it will 
suggest : 

In the Children's Court yesterday James Donovan, nine years of age, 
was charged with selling papers without a permit. Agent Simms, of the 
Children's Aid Society, reported that investigation disclosed the fact that 
the boy had been supporting two younger children while their father Was 
in the hospital. The Society will care for the three until the father is 
discharged. 

You can write a dozen stories from that. You do not have 
to stick to those facts. Start with the idea of the boy who 
makes the home and then let your fancy do the rest. 

It is possible to get a suggestion from a copyrighted story that 
will give you something utterly unlike. If the result is utterly 
unlike you are justified in using the inspiration, since that is all 
you do use. 

Take Dr. Jekyl and M r . Hyde, for example. That would 
seem to be a pretty hard story to steal, yet the master plot is 
merely that of dual personality treated by a master of style and « 



PLOT FORMATION 73 

imagination. You cannot make another Jekyl and Hyde, but 
suppose your character is a man who is a good husband and a 
loving father, unless he is drinking and that a single glass of 
whiskey will transform him into a brute. 

You can work that into a drama from several angles or you 
can turn it into a comedy. It doesn't look much like a comedy, 
but just suppose that the man is a miser and hordes every penny, 
but the moment he tastes alcohol he spends lavishly. That is a 
distinctly comedy aspect of a seemingly serious theme. 

Most stories do have their serious and comedy aspects and the 
tragedy that fails may sell quickly as a comedy or even a farce. 

Having found an acceptable plot, the next question is one of 
possibility and plausibility. A story may be wholly possible and 
yet utterly lack plausibility. One author complained that a studio 
had rejected the story of an operation performed by a surgeon- 
missionary's wife in the jungles of Africa. He offered to give 
names and addresses to prove the correctness of his plot. It was 
entirely possible that the operation was performed, but it would 
not seem plausible to the audiences. It was a thing so excep- 
tional that it would carry no conviction. 

You may argue with the editor as to the possibility of this 
thing and that, but he cannot pass the argument along to the 
millions who might see the film, and so he passes the story back 
because it is not plausible, not because it is not possible that 
such a thing may have happened. Here we have the converse 
of the over-common true story. Do not follow the commonplace, 
but on the other hand do not offer the fact so unusual that it must 
be seen to be believed. 

The question of expense, too, cuts an important figure. If you 
write a fiction story and have the troops go marching by, you 
do not have to pay each man from two to five dollars a day. If 
you write of a steamer wreck, it costs no more to wreck an ocean 
liner than a small rowboat, but in a picture you must wreck the 
steamer or else find one already wrecked. Do not figure that they 
can make a trick picture because "they can make a camera do 
anything." They can, but even then they must get the steamer 
and it costs money to charter a steamer of the proper size. 

Perhaps in a farce you have the comedian thrown off the 
train because he cannot pay his fare. First you see him in the 
car and then train stops and he is kicked off. It costs a lot of 
money to build a car set and it will cost $50 to stop the train 
between stations, since you must hire a special train, but it will 
cost only $5 or $10 if you use a street car instead, and it will be 
much less trouble because a car will be hired on some line near the 
Studio where it might be necessary to go fifty or one hundred 



74 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

miles to get the train, since it must be worked on some little 
traveled branch instead of the main line. It costs nothing to 
picture a man getting on or off a train standing in the station. 
The player merely climbs the steps and gets down on the other 
side or climbs up from the opposite side and comes down on 
the camera side of the train as though he had just alighted. 

Ships in dock can be gotten by most companies, even those 
in Chicago, but a ship that must be moved must be chartered, 
and this mounts the cost up tremendously without giving much 
return in effect. 

Automobiles are used to carry the players around for the 
outside scenes and are always at hand. It is better to use an 
auto than a carriage where there is a choice. 

Stories partly in America and partly in foreign countries are 
difficult to produce and are seldom convincing. It is possible 
to play the foreign scenes in a succession of interior sets, but 
have no scenes calling for exteriors, houses or other structures. 
Mexican and South American plays can be made by those com- 
panies located in the south or southwest, but it is not possible, for 
example, to give a convincing street scene in Paris or Berlin 
without going to those cities. 

Costume plays add to the cost, since costumes must be fur- 
nished by the company; the players being required to supply 
only modern costumes. When you see a costume play on the 
screen you may feel assured that there was some particular 
reason for the production that would have no bearing on your 
own script should you send it in. It may be that the company 
came into possession of the costumes and wrote the plays to fit, 
or the owner of the company may have wanted a picture of a 
certain type. The chance of sale is so limited that it will not 
pay you to write costume plays. 

Most studios are willing to go to considerable expense now 
and then in producing something out of the ordinary for the 
sake of the advertisement and because of the larger European 
sales, but it is best to leave the costly productions to the studio 
force or wait until you are able to get direct orders from the 
Editor. As a rule most manufacturers keep the cost down 
and look to the plot to make the strength rather than to the me- 
chanical effects. 

Another requisite of the good plot is a small acting cast. 
Some companies want plays that can use many persons, but the 
story must be held to not more than four or five people if it is 
to be clear and understandable. Other characters may be intro- 
duced as required, but the narrative must center about one per- 
son and the bulk of the work of developing that narrative should 



EVOLVING A PLOT 75 

fall to not more than four or five persons. More active char- 
acter3 will be confusing and the audience cannot carry all of the 
identifications in their heads. Use as many persons as the story 
needs, but make prominent only a few and let them tell the 
story. The butler who brings in the letter is a character, but 
he does not figure prominently. The maid who assists her 
mistress to elope is important. 

And lastly, let me make a plea for the plot with the happy 
ending. There are many "strong" stories where a happy end- 
ing is possible, but you are not required to write these. Write 
the wholesome, joyous story and leave the morbid and the un- 
pleasant to others. The temptation is strong to write the tragic 
plot, but the demand is for pleasant things. You may be im- 
pressed with "Romeo and Juliet," but the greater appeal is made 
by the heart interest story and the demand is so much more 
urgent for this class of plays that you will find it profitable to 
hold to pleasant things and leave the tragic to others. 



CHAPTER XL 

EVOLVING A PLOT 

Deriving plots from nothing — from the title — from a start — 
from a climax — knowledge of the subject necessary — 
writing to order — from suggestion. 

Various writers have differing ideas as to the best manner of 
evolving the plot. The beginner will, for a time, do well to 
wait for inspiration, to wait until he has a story to write be- 
fore he starts to write it, but even the beginner can find good 
practise and instruction in the evolution of the plot from 
nothing. 

The best plot is apt to be the one that comes to you naturally 
and seems almost to write itself. That story is almost certain 
to be better than the one that is manufactured, but the writer 
cannot always wait for these inspirations and it is well to learn 
how to create a plot from a suggestion so slight that it seems to 
be nothing. 

One favorite way is to think up a catchy title and write a story 
to fit the title. Suppose that we take "His Happy Home," which 
is the first that occurs. That sort of title is equally applicable 
to a drama or a farce, but as a farce the title should be a sar- 



76 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

casm and the home anything <but happy. His wife nags and his 
children worry him. What next? Does he start to run away 
from that happy home, or does he make the home really happy? 
In the first of these we might make the escape a dream, and 
he wakes to find himself still at home, but dream plays have 
been overdone and to most Editors "It was a dream" is like a 
red rag to a bull. As a rule the dream play is the last resort 
of an author whose story is too wildly improbable to pass as 
anything else. 

If he runs away from home he must be brought back, other- 
wise the moral is misplaced and there will be as many who will 
think of the deserted wife as will rejoice in the victim's escape. 

On the other hand suppose that the home really is happy until 
the wife turns reformer or suffragette or something and the 
once happy home is overrun by weak-minded men and strong- 
minded women. 

Here is another idea. Hubby is henpecked. He doesn't even 
dare speak in his own home. There is a club of henpecks and 
in the gymnasium each has a dummy figure of his wife that 
he uses as a punching bag. Hubby talks of his "other wife" 
in his sleep and the wife gets jealous, with the result that the 
wife and the other wives descend on the club and put it out of 
business. Now we call it "His Other Wife." We have the 
story and we still have the title to suggest another story. 

As a drama the happy home may be wrecked by the business 
ambition of the man, by the social ambition of the woman, by 
some tempter, either man or woman, by the growing dissipation 
of the husband, through the loss of money, through the death of 
an only child or any other means. 

In working from the climax you conceive a strong situation 
and then work back to the start. Suppose that we take this idea : 
A man loves a woman other than his wife. In a moment of 
danger he may save but one of the two women. Which one 
does he save, the woman he loves or the woman who loves him? 
Why did he make his choice? 

Don't try to answer your question yet. You are not in a posi- 
tion to answer, for you do not know the facts of the case. First 
manufacture the facts by working back to the start of the story, 
and then make your decision. You have a man and two women, 
one of whom is his wife* Now you can either first show the 
man and his wife or else go back of the marriage and show, if 
you wish, that the other woman really has the more logical 
claim on his affections. 

Here again, you have two choices. Shall the other woman be 
the man's mistress or shall she nurse a hopeless but chaste pas- 



EVOLVING A PLOT 77 

sion. Suppose that we decide in favor of the former. The man 
first marries and then meets a woman of superior mental or 
physical attraction. He forgets his vows and turns to her. The 
wife discovers the situation, but is helpless, making her feeble 
fight with no hope of victory. Here you have the resignation 
of the wife to contrast with the evil triumph of the other woman. 
Then comes the big moment. The man must make a quick de- 
cision. One woman is guilty in her love, the other is not. In 
that great moment his heart turns again to the woman to whom 
he promised protection and he bears her in safety not alone to 
life, but to a new happiness. It may be that the other woman 
is saved in some means and lives on, suffering a greater pun- 
ishment in the success of her rival than if death had claimed her. 

If the decision is made in favor of the woman he loves, the 
end can be nothing but misery. This is not because of the 
moral of the church, but the moral of the picture. In stories 
an evil action must be punished by evil. The spectre of the 
dead wife must ever stand between them. Happiness will not 
be possible because it will outrage the sense of justice. The 
man's unhappiness is the punishment for his crime. 

Taking the story of the purer love for the woman not his 
wife, we have a new set of developments. We find the man who 
has married for some reason other than love, in the fulfillment 
of a death-bed promise, to save a woman's name, or any other 
chivalrous reason. The woman he loves knows and under- 
stands. The love is pure, but hopeless. Then comes the de- 
cision. If the wife is left, the road is open to marriage. If the 
wife is saved love is lost. It is the other woman who makes 
the decision in accordance with her entire course of action. 
She makes him save the wife turning to face the death she does 
not fear. 

Here, too, it is possible to work to the happy finish. In spite 
of all the man can do, the wife is not saved. The other woman 
survives. Honorable marriage is now open to them and they 
have no cause for reproach. It is what we have been wishing 
for all along and did not dare hope for. 

The best climax is that which comes as a surprise and satis- 
fies the wishes of the audience after it has been made to appear 
that this consummation is utterly impossible. 

Having worked back to the start, perhaps we find that the 
story moves in some other direction toward a new climax. 
Perhaps the discovery of the husband's infidelity caused the death 
of the wife and, all too late he discovers that it was his wife 
whom he really loved. He faces his punishment in a loveless 



78 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

life, for now his illicit love has turned to hatred. In death the 
wife has triumphed over the woman she could not vanquish in 
life. 

A third method is to start with the beginning of the story and 
work for the climax. Here the start of the story is the com- 
mencement of the reasoning instead of the climax. 

Suppose a man passionately devoted to a woman who does 
not love him. How does he win her love? Suppose that they 
are married. He may win her love through his tender care or he 
may win her through pretended indifference. He may love her 
enough to let her get a divorce that she may marry a man she 
thinks she loves, but that very self sacrifice may show her which 
is the truer heart. She may have a harmless love affair with 
another man and turn to her husband on the rebound, or any 
one of perhaps a hundred developments may be used. 

We may work to the climax and then find that it would be bet- 
ter for the story if the woman loved the man instead of the re- 
verse. It is a simple matter to turn back to the fresh start. 

It may not come easy to the author at the start to evolve plots 
from little or nothing, but perseverance will bring results in 
exact ratio to the training the imagination receives. Some per- 
sons are too matter of fact to invent plots. There is little hope 
for them, but given the ability to think out a story plot, train- 
ing will bring development just as gymnasium work will pro- 
duce better muscular proportions. 

The man or woman who would write stories must study con- 
stantly to acquire a general fund of information. If you write 
of a broker you must know how brokers act, if you write of 
firemen you must know the life of the fireman. One play that 
caused much merriment in the studios had an unframed photo- 
graph of the broker's office staff on the mantel of his dining- 
room that he might point out to his daughter the man he 
thought stole the bonds. That would do very well for the 
home of a mechanic who might have a photograph of the shop 
force taken by some itinerant photographer, but it was wholly 
out of place in the dining-room of a wealthy man of reasonably 
good taste. 

If you write of courts, follow court procedure. If you do not 
know what that procedure is, ask some lawyer. If you write 
of physicians and know little about it, consult a doctor. Consult 
him also about diseases with which you are not familiar. 

If your hero is jailed on a false charge, do not have him 
turned loose the moment his innocence is proven. You cannot 
go right down to the jail and tell the Warden that it is all right. 



DEVELOPING THE PLOT 79 

If he has been arraigned, but not yet tried, he must go before 
the committing magistrate and there the case will be dismissed. 
If he has been tried and sentenced, only a pardon from the 
Governor or a reopening of the case will suffice. 

If your hero is about to be executed and you suddenly dis- 
cover the proof of innocence, you do not drop around to the 
jail and tell the Warden to wait. The Warden is not a judge 
and cannot pass on the evidence. You must get a court stay cr 
appeal to the Governor for a reprieve. The Warden is placed 
in his position to obey the orders of the court. The order of 
the court is that the man must be put to death. That is all the 
Warden has to do with the matter. 

It is not necessary to be a westerner to write western stories, 
nor to have been in India to write of the East Indies, but it is 
necessary to know something of the life and habits of the people 
you write about and to know sufficient to be able to write 
intelligently. 

It is not probable that you would have the millionaire banker 
go to work with a tin dinner pail in his hand or have the ditch 
digger ride to his work in a taxicab, but you may make some 
trifling mistake just as ridiculous as this to those who know. 
The millionaire, for example, who takes five one thousand dollar 
bills out of his pocket and pays for the automobile he is buying 
is just as improbable and just as laughable as the millionaire 
who puts on overalls before he takes his place at his mahogany 
desk. 



CHAPTER XII. 

DEVELOPING THE PLOT 

Possibilities of the plot — getting the plot on paper — the 
picture eye — do not be afraid to change — watch for situ- 
ations— -the increasing interest. 

Having evolved the plot, the next thing to do is to develop 
the plot into the complete play. You may have a good plot 
and still fail of success because the development is not as good 
as the idea. 

It is a grave error to suppose that your plot can have but a 
single development. It is capable of change so long as the 
script remains in your possession. As was pointed out in the 



80 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

last chapter, each start has many endings just as every ending 
may be arrived at from many points. Regard the start as a dot 
in the center of a circle and the circumference as the climax. 
From the center you can work out to any point of the circum- 
ference. Because you have the plot fairly well in mind is no 
reason why you should not change it when you have come to 
the work of development. 

In developing your plot you start from the center and work 
outward. You have a certain point in mind at which you are 
aiming, but as the story grows, scene by scene, it may be that 
you will find that it is taking another direction. Follow the 
lead and see what it produces. If you do not like it you can go 
back to your original idea, but often you will find the new 
idea better than the old. 

The component parts of the photoplay are like the digits in a 
written sum. Let your scene represent the figure one and the 
second move number three, and you have the sum of thirteen. 
If the second move is four, you have another combination. 
If the number of the start is two instead of one you have another 
combination. With two digits you have 99 possible combina- 
tions, with three 999, and with four 9999- So it is with your 
story. Each added factor makes for a new form. Examine 
these factors well and decide which will best suit your purpose 
and your mood. 

That last advice may sound odd, but you will find there are 
times when you can do better with comedy than with drama 
or fare better with the story of adventure than with the romance, 
or vice versa. If you want to write of adventure and start 
to write of love, you spoil a chance to write a good adventure 
story by writing a poor romance. 

It is only the veteran who can sit down to the machine and 
tell himself that he is going to write a romance, a comedy or 
whatever it is he needs at the moment. The new writer will 
do better to humor his fancy a little until he has the work 
better in hand. 

And do not be in too much of a hurry to write a story of any 
sort. Keep at the evolution until you have the main points 
pretty well in mind and in orderly arrangement. Then when 
you go to the machine you can write that story if no new de- 
velopment presents itself. 

It is not possible to lay down exact rules for writing. One 
author may work best under pressure and another need leisure 
and quiet, but in most cases it is a mistake to sit and stare at 
the machine in the hope that an idea may come. Unconsciously 
you resent the fact that you must write, and so you cannot. 



DEVELOPING THE PLOT 81 

You can think as well in another part of the room, on the street, 
wherever you may go. You will most probably do better work 
if you do not approach the machine until you are really ready 
to begin work. 

You may find that it is better to write the synopsis or sketch 
the action in on a slip of paper, suggesting with a word or two 
the entire scene, but most writers are able to keep the plot 
vivid in their mind without the aid of memoranda. Experiment 
until you find what system suits you best. No one can tell 
but yourself. 

The important thing in this first draft is not to let the tech- 
nique of form get the better of the technique of development. 
The man who perpetually stops to argue with himself whether 
this is an "on screen" or a bust or stops to figure whenever 
he should write "same as" or "back to," will never get very far 
as a creative writer. He burdens his mind so much with the 
details that he cramps it for the broader work. The artist who 
worries whether there ought to be seven or nine hairs in his 
smallest brush will never paint a masterpiece. Your first draft 
should be made in the first glow of enthusiasm. Now, if ever, 
you are inspired. Catch the inspiration before it dies. There is 
plenty of time later for revision and editing. Occupy your 
mind only with the details of the plot, with making the story 
real, and you can get the rest with revision if it is needed. 

If you have waited long enough you have a pretty good idea 
of your characters and about how they would act. Now try and 
see them actually act. Let them go through with the action just 
as you want it played and note down the leading actions as they 
play it. 

This is what has been called the "picture eye," the ability to 
visualize words or thoughts into actions. Unless you can see 
the action with your mental vision you cannot write it and your 
picture will be flat and unconvincing. 

You do not have to write all the action you see, but only the 
action that helps to tell the story. You do not, for example, say : 

Jim flicks the ashes from his cigarette, shoots down his 
cuffs, straightens his tie, throws away his cigarette, 
and with a confident air approaches Edith. Sitting on 
the sofa beside her, he takes her hand and in his rich, 
musical voice tells her the old, old story. 

That would all be very well if you were writing a novel and 
getting so much for each thousand words, but in photoplay you 



82 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

want to give the director only the really important business. 
Instead of all the petty details you give just the essential action 
and write : 

Jim crosses to Edith- sits- proposes. 

This will save you time and save the director both time and 
trouble. Jim has to cross the room. He has to sit beside Edith. 
He has to propose. Those are three essential facts. The rest are 
details. He need not shoot down his cuffs and he does not have 
to be smoking. 

Lose yourself as completely as you can in your story. Get 
interested in it and think of it as a story and not as something 
you have to write. Do not even think of technique. Be occu- 
pied only with the running plot. If your leader runs too long, 
let it run. If your letter threatens to go over the word limit, 
let it go. You can condense when you cannot do creative work. 
Catch the story while you are in the mood. That twenty word 
leader can be cut to five when the fires of genius have burned 
out and you are raking over the ashes of revision, but you 
haven't the time right now to stop and worry about a leader. 
The main point is to get the warm, living story down on paper. 
Give it every ounce that there is in you. When you have it 
all down on paper where it can't get away from you, then you 
can stand back and look at it and criticise and revise, but you 
must first catch your story. 

In the course of time, you'll probably reach the point where 
the best means of handling a given situation will at once sug- 
gest itself to you and you can write a story and put it right into 
the mail box with a reasonably good chance of a sale, but until 
you reach that point you must count on revision and so . you 
need not be too particular with your first draft. It's what the 
Editor sees that counts and you may change your story half a 
dozen times between the first draft and the last. Even after it 
has gone and come back again you may find things to be 
changed. That man is hopeless who is bound to the first de- 
velopment of the script unless he is one of those few who 
either write a good story the first time or else write another one. 

There is a class of writer who cannot revise. He must do 
his best work the first time or else he will revise and work- 
over his script until he has taken every particle of life out of it. 

Stage dancers have a technical term, "elevation," that has 
reference to their carriage. If the dancer seems to reach down 
and tap the floor with his feet while floating about, instead of 
showing that he is springing from the floor, he is said to have 
good elevation. 



DEVELOPING THE PLOT 83 

The story, too, must have elevation. There must be the same 
appearance of lightness, the same careful concealment of hard 
work. It must seem spontaneous and natural. The action must 
move easily and consistently from scene to scene, each ad- 
vancing in some degree the plot itself. There should be no 
undue bustle and confusion, none of the running in and out of 
scenes that Editors call "going and coming." In comedy there 
must be greater liveliness of action, but in comedy or drama 
there should be no flurry of entrances or exits. In drama the 
movement of the story should be like the flow of a great river. 
There should be no appearance of hurry, but always the sug- 
gestion of strength and power in reserve. But like the river 
approaching the rapids, there must come the quickening move- 
ment and then the rush of the climax. 

Keep the action well proportioned. Do not have people ap- 
pear in houses other than their own without apparent reason. 
Do not drag the characters around from place to place just to 
have them handy. The whole value of a photoplay depends 
upon the closeness with which it simulates real life. Write of 
real people performing natural actions. Do not put in matter 
that does not properly belong "to make it seem more interesting." 
Get the interest out of your plot and you will not have to send 
your hero into the air in a flying machine or to the bottom of 
the ocean in a submarine. There are good stories to be written 
around aeroplanes or submarines, and perhaps you can write 
those stories, but do not drag them into stories in which they, 
do not belong simply because you cannot get natural interest and 
feel that you must do something desperate to command atten- 
tion. Do not bolster up a weak story with an elephant or a 
railroad wreck. Put more story in. 

Keep your eyes- open for striking situations and effective bits 
of business. Do not, as a rule, write in the by-play, but if you 
get something really good, write it out for the director. One of 
the best of the directors owes his success largely to the fact 
that no matter how commonplace the story may be, he gives it 
one or two very human touches that makes the whole produc- 
tion appear real and vivid. It may not be an important action. 
It may have no real bearing on the plot, but it is like the little 
leaven that lcaveneth the whole. It gives reality to the entire 
story. More than one story has hung on in other studios on 
the strength of one or two clever bits that has lifted the script 
above the commonplace. 

Do not trust to the climax alone to carry your story. Gradu- 
ate the intensity of the action with succeeding scenes so that 



84 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

you work up to your climax. Do not loaf along until just be- 
fore the end and then spring a climax that is all out of propor- 
tion to what has gone before. It is easier to ascend an inclined 
plane than to climb a high fence and the climax presented sud- 
denly after weak action is like the fence. The audience is not 
prepared for it. Lift your audience up gradually. 

Plan your climax as late as possible. In the earlier scenes 
you can arrange a series of minor climaxes, or crises, each a 
little stronger than the other, but none approaching the real 
climax, but you cannot put your climax in the middle of your 
play and hold the interest through the falling action that follows. 
Your climax is the biggest moment in your play. All that 
comes after that is in a descending scale. In that little book 
agent story we wrote, the climax comes when Smith and his 
friends bought the books. Then Tim says "Thank you. Good 
night" and the play is done. That's where the climax belongs. 
In the story of the man who could save but one of the two 
women, your climax would come at the choice — about two-thirds 
of the way through unless you were careful, and so good work- 
manship should favor that development in which the woman 
the man loves tells him to save his wife and turns with a smile 
to face her own fate. If the story stopped right there, the 
climax would come at the end of the play, but if you used 
any of the other suggested developments your story would keep 
on for several scenes. Suppose that we took the development 
where, after all, the woman was saved and the wife died. That 
would give us the happy ending, but it would be an anti-climax, 
since it could not possibly be as strong a situation as the re- 
nunciation. The anti-climax is like eating a piece of bread and 
butter after you have had your rich pastry and dessert. The 
bread and butter is all right in its place, but the plum pudding 
and ice cream are the climax of the meal. 

Do not plan for the comedy relief that in the drama is used to 
lighten the action. Two hours and a half of straight drama is 
rather too much without some distraction and so the comedy 
relief was introduced, but in photoplay the story runs but twenty 
minutes or less to the reel and there is no time to cumber the 
action with matter that does not directly advance the main 
action. More than this, the introduction of a comedy relief will 
be apt to detract from the dramatic effect. Even some uncon- 
sidered action may bring a laugh that will be fatal to the sus- 
pense. In photoplay it is not possible to make the audience alter- 
nately laugh and cry. It may be comedy or drama, but not 
both; the form is too simple to admit of complex treatment. 



PUTTING IN THE PUNCH 85 



CHAPTER XIII. 



PUTTING IN THE PUNCH 



What the punch is — the three sorts of dramatic punch — 
raising the commonplace to the dramatic — relation of 
punch to plot — the comedy punch. 



It may be that someone will presently find a more expressive 
term than "punch" for that quality of the story that lifts it from 
the commonplace, but it is to be questioned. The word is simple, 
terse and highly descriptive. It is almost self-explanatory to the 
trained writer, and yet the question most frequently asked by the 
beginner is "What is the punch ?" 

Punch possesses a variety of synonyms. It is heart interest, 
grip, suspense and a dozen other things rolled into one. Like" the 
small boy's definition of salt, it is what makes the story bad when 
it is left out. The story without the punch is like a motor boat 
without the motor, the gun without powder or shot. It looks all 
right at first glance but the kick is lacking. 

Punch is that element of the story which gives it interest. It 
is dramatic situation, but it is more than that and it is because the 
word means so much that it is not easy to define. 

If a man on the street should walk up to another and knock him 
down, the situation would not be without interest. If the person 
assaulted was the President of the United States and the man 
striking the blow the defeated candidate at the last election, the 
interest would be very greatly increased. The first assault might 
occupy two or three lines in the police court news of the local pa- 
pers, but the fact that it was the President and his late rival who 
engaged in the row, would put the punch into the story and the 
facts would be telegraphed and cabled around the world. The 
American papers would give columns to the story, the San Fran- 
cisco papers as well as those of New York and Boston, but the 
fact that Henry Hastings had had a fight with Samuel Belting 
would not attract much attention beyond their immediate circles 
of friends. . 



86 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

Every day people die or get married. In most cases it costs so 
much a line to announce the fact in the papers, but if the daughter 
of millions marries the title of centuries, pages are given to the 
affair in its every aspect from the family history of the long line 
of dukes to the sort of embroidery on the bride's corset covers. 
The punch has been put into the commonplace. The status of the 
contracting parties has raised the story to the point of general 
interest. 

In one sense, then, the punch is that feature of a story which 
raises the story above the commonplace. 

A tramp dies in the workhouse. The story is recorded only in 
the records of the Bureau of Vital Statistics. 

Perhaps he dies in a vacant lot. The newspapers record that 
"The body of an unknown man, believed to have been a tramp, 
was found this morning in the vacant lot at the corner of Broad 
and Beech streets." The item is of more importance because one 
expects tramps to die in the workhouse, but few die in vacant lots. 

But perhaps the tramp met death while making a gallant rescue 
at a fire. The story of the tramp's heroism becomes more im- 
portant than the story of the fire, because his death is dramatic 
and the fire is not. 

Suppose that instead of that the tramp's body was found in the 
cellar of a grocery story. In the other end of the cellar was 
stored the surplus stock but the tramp was too weak from illness 
to break open a box of crackers or reach the bottles of wine close 
to hand. He had died of hunger and thirst in the sight of food 
and drink. That is dramatic. 

Take once more the cellar and the tramp. He has taken a little 
child under his protection and, too weak to go out and beg food, 
has died of starvation that the little child might live until help 
came. 

The tramp dead in the workhouse is commonplace. The tramp 
dead in a vacant lot is unusual, the tramp saving the life of an- 
other at the cost of his own is heroic, the tramp dying of starva- 
tion in the sight of food is dramatic, the tramp dying that a little 
life might be spared is pathetic. In each story there is an in- 
creasing punch. 

A man running for a train and losing it is generally regarded 
as something humorous by all save the man who misses the train. 
If losing the train means a sacrifice of a human life, the comedy 
is turned into the dramatic. If we know nothing of the fact that 
a life is dependent upon the catching of the train, the incident re- 
mains humorous to us. If we know, the situation is tragic. The 
presentation of this dramatic side in a forceful and striking man- 
ner puts in the punch. 



PUTTING IN THE PUNCH 87 

The punch should suggest itself to the author simultaneously 
with the plot itself, because the plot is not good unless it has the 
punch. But lacking the punch we can add it afterward or having 
too weak a punch, we can intensify it through development. 

Let us take the triangle again. Two men love the same girl 
and their efforts to win her forms the story. In the simplest form 
Frank Jones and Paul Smith love Mary Brown and are rivals for 
her hand. Frank finds the greater favor and wins her hand in 
marriage. There is a story there, but it lacks the punch because it 
tells only the commonplace and usual. It almost wholly lacks 
dramatic situation. But the punch can be added after the story 
has been devised and the punch can be built up to almost any de- 
gree required. 

Suppose that Frank and Paul are brothers. This at once brings 
a dramatic element into the story. Frank is staid and steady go- 
ing; Paul is wayward and inclined to dissipation, but like most 
black sheep, is his mother's idol. Paul declares that unless he can 
marry Mary he will go straight to the devil. Frank does not par- 
ticularly care for that, for his brother has long since tested for- 
bearance to the breaking point, but their mother is an invalid 
and Frank knows that Paul's lapse will break her heart. He gives 
up his suit and leaves the field clear to Paul. The story now has 
a punch, because it has become dramatic through the element of 
Frank's renunciation, but the story is by no means as strong as it 
may be made. 

Disregard the relationship and once more they are Jones and 
Smith. This time it is Frank who is reckless and Paul, who is 
the steady one. Frank sees that Paul has the inside track and 
plans to trick him. He knows that Paul's father is short in his 
cash at the bank in which all three are employed. It is but a 
temporary shortage, a matter that amounts to little more than an 
unauthorized loan, but it is technically a criminal act and ex- 
posure would mean the old man's ruin and disgrace and that, in 
its turn would probably lead to his death. 

Frank tells Paul of his father's situation and warns him that 
unless he abandons all claims to Mary's hand he will inform the 
bank directors of the facts. To save his father, Paul assents. 
The old man, knowing nothing of the situation, adds to Paul's 
anguish by urging him to press his suit more ardently. 

Here we have a more dramatic situation. The first plot offers 
but one premise, that 

(a) Frank and Paul desire to marry Mary. 

The last development offers these facts : 



88 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

(a) Frank and Paul desire to marry Mary. 

(b) Frank has knowledge of Paul's father's indiscretions. 

(c) He uses this knowledge to dispose of his rival. 

(d) Paul's father, not knowing this, upbraids him for a laggard in love. 

That is doing much better, but we have only started on our 
search for the punch. Paul knows of some grave reason why 
Frank should not marry Mary, yet he dares not use his knowledge 
to warn the woman he loves. To tell that Frank is addicted to the 
morphine habit will be to bring ruin and death to his father. Not 
to tell will bring lifelong misery to the girl. 

Now let the old man know these facts about Frank as well as 
Paul and let him be eager to warn Mary himself since it seems 
that Paul will not. Paul knows that to tell him of his own knowl- 
edge of the affairs at the bank and of Frank's possession of the 
facts will be almost as bad as a general exposure. He seeks to 
prevent his father from telling Mary without giving his reasons 
why. 

That is better, but there is more yet. The father determines to 
take the situation into his own hands. He starts for Mary's 
house. On the way he meets Frank. Frank guesses his errand 
and warns him that if he tells Mary he will do so at the cost of 
his own exposure. 

The old man is badly shaken, but he argues that the happiness 
of Paul and Mary is of greater importance than his own short- 
lived happiness. No longer with hot eagerness, but with slow 
determined steps, the old man continues on his way while Frank 
goes in search of the President of the bank. 

The duty done, the old man goes home and prepares for the 
suicide that will take him beyond the reach of human justic. He 
is writing a farewell note to Paul when the latter bursts into the 
room with the news that Frank was struck by an engine while 
crossing the railroad tracks. Here the story might stop, but there 
is one more possible development. Paul sees the letter of farewell 
and realizes the situation and the sacrifice that his father has made 
for him. The slight anger of the past few weeks vanishes. More 
than ever they are father and son. 

Now from the simple start that two men want to marry the 
same girl, we have evolved these complications of the punch. 

(a) Frank and Paul desire to marry Mary. 

(b) Frank discovers the peculations. 

(c) Frank threatens Paul with the exposure of the father. 

(d) Paul renounces Mary for his father's sake. 

(e) The father quarrels with Paul over his failure to urge his suit. 

(f) Paul knows Frank to be a drug fiend but dares not tell. 

(g) The father discovers Frank's habit and urges Paul to tell, 
(h) He decides to warn the girl himself since Paul will not. 

(i) Frank discovers his purpose and threatens him with exposure. 

(j) For the sake of Paul and Mary, the old man persists in telling. 



PUTTING IN THE PUNCH 89 

(k) His preparations for the suicide. 
(1) The announcement of Frank's death. 
(m) The discovery by Paul of the letter and the reconciliation. 

There is hardly a commonplace of life that cannot be raised in 
similar fashion to the story with the punch, but care must be used 
to provide natural and logical explanations of all incidents. The 
author cannot arbitrarily adopt a situation that does not belong to 
the story. It is not possible to drag in sensation to bolster up a 
weak plot. The strength must be the strength of the plot, not 
the strength of foreign matter interpolated into the story. 

It should also be borne in mind that the punch does not neces- 
sarily mean violence. To the contrary it is seldom that the punch 
is attained though the introduction of violence and crime. 
Through its very nature the punch should be an appeal to the dra- 
matic and not to the melodramatic. 

Punch is a matter of mind rather than spectacle. If the crazed 
foreman ties the girl to a log and starts the gang saws because 
she will not marry him, we have put sensation, not punch into the 
story. If two men fight over a girl, there is no added punch to the 
story. We have increased the sensation, and sensation may enable 
the story to gain attention, but it will not have the grip that the 
story with the punch possesses, because the appeal is made to the 
eye and not the brain, x The sight of two men fighting is stirring, 
but the thought behind the fight is what carries the punch if 
there is one. Punch and violence are not synonymous but wholly 
the reverse of each other. 

The sight of the girl tied to a saw log with the saws running is 
thrilling, but the situation lacks the intensity that would be 
possessed by the situation if we knew that the foreman sat inside 
the mill with a gun on his lap ready to kill the girl the moment 
she appeared with her father's dinner and the punch was worked 
through the suspense of wondering whether the father, coming 
down another path, would meet the girl before she enters the mill. 

The punch is mental ; violence is physical. 

In the comedy story the punch is brought about through the 
force with which the comedy idea is built up and driven home. 

A good example of the double comedy punch is found in 
Auntie's Affinity. Auntie falls in love with a distinguished 
stranger whom we know to be the chef in the hotel in which she 
lives. The punch is found in the thought that the old lady does 
not know that he is a chef, because he has told her that he is a 
nobleman. We wonder what she will say when she finds out just 
what he is. She finds out and collapses. That is the punch. 
Then it turns out that the Chef really is a nobleman and a 
wealthy one at that but he has not yet come into the posses- 



90 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

sion of the fortune to which he has fallen heir, and so it happens 
that he still works as a chef until the money comes. That is the 
second punch. There are two distinct comedy ideas in the one story. 

Comedy should stand in less need of a pronounced punch since 
it is not dependent so much upon the idea for its interest save in 
the higher forms of story. In the dramatic story the punch is 
essential for much of the action is lacking in particular interest. 
In the comedy of the more farcical sorts the action itself is amus- 
ing and while the lack of idea cannot be excused, there is less 
need of a pronounced plot since the action amuses as it leads to 
the climax. 

Let's write a new definition of punch that applies to comedy and 
drama alike. 

Punch is the idea that lies back of the action and grips and 
holds the attention, raising the action out of the commonplace 
into the unusual. 

That's the punch. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

THE CUT-BACK 

Value of the cut-back — used to stop gaps and cover breaks — 
used to maintain suspense — how to handle — the dramatic 
cut-back — the comedy cut-back. 

What the punch is to the mental side of the story the cut-back 
is to the physical or visual side. One gives intensity to the plot, 
the other heightens the suspense by intensifying the action. 

Originally the cut-back was used to close up a gap in the action, 
to obviate the actual showing of a crime or to bridge a stoppage 
in the action, but while it is still much used in these connections, 
its greatest value lies in the fact that through its use the element 
of suspense may be very greatly heightened. 

Used in the first manner the cut-back prevents what might 
otherwise be awkward situations. We have the heroine come to 
her rooms to change her dress. Nothing can develop until the 
change is made, but it is manifestly impossible to hold the action 
in her room until the change is made. To show her starting to 
make the change and then show her changed will give two scenes 
in succession in the same setting. These might be broken with a 
leader, but a cut-back would be better. We will suppose that 
Norma has had a quarrel with her father and rushes off to change 
her dress before she leaves home forever. We might handle it 
this way: 



THE CUT-BACK 91 

7- Norma 's room- Norma enters, crying- starts to remove her 
dress. 

Leader- Norma is ready to leave her father's home. 

8- Back to No. 7- Norma is now dressed for street- she takes 
one last look about the room- exits. 

It requires no great experience to realize that this is rather awk- 
ward. Here we have a scene following one of great strength; the 
quarrel with her father. She rushes off to her room to change 
her things and we are all wrought up over the matter. Then 
flashes an unimportant leader and the effect is much as though 
our spirits were dashed with cold water. The value of the situa- 
tion has been lost through the leader. Compare the above with 
this development: 

7- Norma' s room- Norma enters, crying- starts to undress. 

8- Back to No. 6- Flash of mother arguing unsuccessfully with 
father. 

9- Back to No. 7- Norma dressed for street- takes last look 
at room- exits. 

The flash of the room in which the quarrel occurred takes no 
more time than the leader would require, but now, instead of los- 
ing interest, the situation is the stronger because of that fleeting 
glimpse of the parents. It holds up the story and may even raise 
it a trifle instead of letting the action drop. 

The same device may be used to get rid of a dinner scene. We 
cannot hold the action through the meal and the ten second din- 
ner is unconvincing. We cut-back to some other action and when 
we get back to the dining room the meal is over. 

In the same way holes may be dug, tents erected or anything 
done that would require more time than the film will permit. 

To conceal crime, or rather to avoid showing the actual per- 
formance of a criminal act, the cut-back is invaluable. If it is a 
fight we may see the police hurrying to the rescue, if a murder 
the assassin draws his revolver. We see the wife of the murdered 
man peacefully engaged in household duties. We come back to 
the other scene and the man is dead. The deed has been com- 
mitted. We have the full effect without having shown the actual 
commission of the crime. 

In the same way there may be shown the burglar breaking into 
the house and the family roused by the noise and telephoning for 



92 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

the police, the mother on her death bed while the son gambles and 
drinks in some bar-room, in short any parallel action in which one 
scene gains added strength through contrast with the other. 

But it is as a means of creating suspense that the cut-back has 
been found to possess the greatest value. The suspense cut-back 
at once quickens the action and delays the climax. One example 
of the cut-back has been given in Chapter Six, but it is capable of 
being handled in many ways. 

One familiar form is the drug clerk that dispenses poison in 
mistake for some harmless remedy. In straight action we would 
see the clerk discover his mistake and rush out, we see the mes- 
senger walking along the street. The clerk catches up with him 
and takes away the bottle. In three not particularly effective 
scenes the entire action has been played. 

Cutting back we see the messenger and the clerk in alternate 
flashes. Now the boy is delayed and we think the clerk will catch 
him, now the delay falls to the clerk and the boy steals a ride on a 
truck, gaining a greater lead. The clerk appeals to an automo- 
bilist, but in the next scene our hopes are dashed because we 
see the boy on the steps delivering the medicine. All of this time 
we have flashed between the boy and the clerk with perhaps a 
glimpse or two into the sick room. Now we alternate between the 
sick room and the clerk because the boy has become unimportant. 
The medicine is about to be administered when the clerk rushes 
in, just in the nick of time. Instead of three scenes perhaps 
twenty have been played and in all that time our nerves have been 
kept a-tingle. 

The number of flashes to be used cannot be definitely stated 
since it varies with the story, but it is well not to give too many. 
Some directors will cut-back six times and others may take ten. 
It is better to write in the six and leave it to the director to add 
more if he desires them. 

In figuring the cut-backs it should be remembered that it is not 
the number of scenes but their length which determines the full 
length of the reel. Ten five-second flashes take no more film than 
one fifty-second scene. Do not be frightened at the way the scene 
numbers pile up. Figure the length and be reassured. 

Let us take one more dramatic example. Judson is the object 
of the insane hatred of Smith, a lunatic. Judson lives alone in a 
house far from the habitations of others. He is sick and without 
attendance, utterly helpless. Smith escapes from his keepers and 
heads straight for Judson's home. The keepers, knowing what is 
likely to happen, start in pursuit. At first the pursuit lies between 
Smith and the keepers. Once or twice there comes a flash of Jud • 



THE CUT-BACK " 93 

son, to remind the spectator of the object of the chase, but the real 
interest lies between Smith and his keepers. Then Smith comes 
to the house. Fear lends strength to Judson. He hurls a bottle 
at Smith, stunning him. He then escapes into the woods, Smith 
rouses and pursues him. Now the interest lies between Judson, 
struggling through the brush and Smith, hot in pursuit, with now 
and then a flash of the keepers. It would be written something 
like this: 

16- Asylum grounds- Smith and keeper enter scene- Smith 
watches his chance- fells keeper- exits. 

17- Base of wall- Smith drops into scene from above- picks 
himself up- exits. 

18- Road- Smith runs through. 

19- Back to No. 16- Keeper revives- gives alarm- other keepers 
enter- all exit. 

20- Woods- Smith runs through. 

21- Same as No. 18- Keepers run through. 

22- Judson's room, as in No. 11- Judson in bed helpless, 

23- Woods- Smith runs through. 

24- Woods- Keepers run through- one falls- badly hurt- others 
gather about him- he urges them to hurry on- they exit. 

25- Woods- Smith runs into scene- stops to tie shoes- on 
again. 

26- Woods- Keepers run through. 

27- Exterior of Judson's, -as in No. 9- Smith enters scene- 
enters house. 

28- Woods- Keepers run through. 

29- Judson's room, as in No. 11- Smith enters- approaches bed- 
Judson terror stricken- Smith turns to table- picks up 
revolver- Judson collects strength- rises- takes large 
bottle- throws. 

30- Woods- Keepers run through. 

31- Back to No. 29- Smith face down on table- Judson rises- 
staggers out. 

32- Exterior of Judson's, as in No. 9- Judson staggers out of 
• house-- 1-6 o-ks: wildly about- .staggers off. 



94 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

33- Back to No. 29- Smith rouses- looks about him- looks at 
broken bottle and at empty bed- can guess- wild with rage- 
rushes out. 

34- Woods- Judson enters scene- staggers on. 

35- Front of Judson's, as in No. 9- Smith rush&s out- picks up 
trail- follows. 

36- Woods- Keepers run through. 

37- Tangle of underbrush- Judson hides. 

38- Woods- Smith following Judson's trail. 

39- Back to No. 37- Smith enters scene- looks about him. 

40- Judson's, as in No. 9- Keepers enter- rush into house. 

41- Back to No. 39- Smith looks about him- passes out of 
scene. 

42- Judson's room, as in No. 11- Keepers enter- look about 
them- exit. 

43- Woods- Smith enters- can find no tracks- turns back. 

44- Front of Judson's, as in No. 9- Keepers rush out- take up 
new trail . 

45- Same as No. 41- Smith enters- looks about him- picks up 
trail- starts for brush. 

45- Close-up of Judson cowering in brush. 

46- Back to No. 44- Smith still approaching brush. 

47- Woods- Keepers run through. 

48- Back to No. 46- Smith aiming at brush with revolver. 

49- Close-up- Judson waiting for shot. 

50- Back to No. 48- Keepers rush in- seize and disarm Smith- 
Judson helped from brush- faints- carried out of scene- 
other keepers exit with Smith. 

Study this development closely and you will note how the in- 
terest is held up. 

Smith passes Judson's hiding place and you think that Judson 
is safe, but he turns and comes back again. Even with the revol- 
ver in his hand Smith does not hre. We have the close up of 
Judson to hold back the denouement a few seconds longer. In- 
stead of three or four scenes we have thirty-five, but those thirty- 



THE CUT-BACK 95 

five will take but little more film than five regular scenes al- 
though it seems much longer because we have given the sugges- 
tion of so much happening. 

Because the cut-back is valuable do not employ it in every 
drama you write. Many dramas are far better if played in fifteen 
scenes than in fifty. Use the cut-back only when there is need of 
it. Use it, do not abuse it. 

In comedy the cut-back delays anticipation, but its greater ser- 
vice is in quickening the action, since here the element of suspense 
is not so greatly needed. Even when the cut-back is employed the 
handling is slightly different. 

If Jones, a gay old boy, engages in a flirtation with some charm- 
ing young woman and winds up by inviting her to lunch, the meal 
will be long drawn out and not very funny. If we cut back to 
Jones' wife in pursuit of her husband, we can save the bits of 
humor that the table scenes will bring and get other laughs from 
Mrs. Jones. Suppose that we try it something like this in the old 
way: 

5- Exterior restaurant- May and Jones enter scene- enter 
restaurant. 

6- Interior of restaurant- Jones and May enter- they are 
shown to table- waiter takes order. 

7- Front of Jones' house, as in No. 3- Mrs. Jones enters from 
house- exits up street. 

8- Restaurant, as in No. 5- Mrs. Jones enters scene- enters 
restaurant. 

9- Interior, as in No. 6- Mrs. Jones enters- chases May out 
with umbrella- Jones dives under the table- she prods him 
out- drives him from restaurant. 

That would be the old way of handling the situation. We get 
a mild laugh when Mrs. Jones starts out because we can guess 
what is coming. There is a better laugh in scene nine where we 
see it happen. That is about all we can get. Now compare this 
with what follows : 

5- Exterior of restaurant- Jones and May enter scene- enter 
restaurant. 

6- Restaurant interior- Jones and May enter- they are shown 
to table- waiter takes order. 

7- Jones' house, as in No. 3- Mrs. Jones enters from house- 
exits up street. 



96 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

8- Back to No. 6- May still ordering- Jones begins to look 
worried- waiter writing as fast as he can to keep up with 
order. 

9- Street- Mrs. Jones enters- meets Mrs. Smith- Mrs. Smith 
tells her of having seen Jones with girl- Mrs. Jones hur- 
ries out. 

10- Back to No. 8- Dishes all over table- May laughing and 
talking- emphasizes her points by pounding Jones on his 
bald spot with a turkey bone- Jones gets sentimental- 
tries to take her hand- she gives him the bone instead- he 
is disgusted. 

11- Street- Mrs. Jones walks through rapidly- fight in her 
eyes. 

12- Back to No. 10- Jones wants to kiss May. 

13- Restaurant exterior, as in No. 5- Mrs. Jones enters scene- 
looks into window- starts. 

14- Back to No. 12- Jones still trying to kiss May- she slips 
a piece of ice down his back. 

15- Back to No. 13- Mrs. Jones leaves window- enters restau- 
rant. 

16- Back to No. 14- Mrs. Jones enters- they see her- May runs 
out- Jones dives under table. 

17- Restaurant exterior, as in No. 5- May runs out- looks into 
window- "Poor Jones." 

18- Back to No. 16- Mrs. Jones prods Jones out from under 
table with umbrella- starts to beat him. 

19- Back to No. 17- May turns from window- exits laughing. 

20- Back to No. 18- Other waiters help Jones* waiter to eject 
the pair. 

21- Exterior of restaurant, as in No. 5- Jones and Mrs. Jones 
put out- they stand a moment- Jones* waiter comes with 
bill- Mrs. Jones threatens him with umbrella- he rushes 
into restaurant- Mrs. Jones lugs Jones off by collar. 



What follows may be told in straight action, but by cutting back 
we get sixteen lively scenes instead of two long and three short 
ones without using much more film. All through this action there 
runs the suggestion that Nemesis is on Jones' trail in the shape of 
his wife and when expectation has been brought to the highest 



VALUES AND EMPHASIS 97 

point consistent with safety the expected happens. A couple more 
scenes might have tired and let the entire run of action fall flat. 

It will be noted that in both of these examples the scene mark- 
ings vary. This is purposely done to show that it is sufficient that 
the scenes are marked so as to be clearly understood by the di- 
rector. In general, the restaurant scenes are all "back to" because 
the action is more or less continuous, while the exteriors are 
mostly "same as" because the stage is cleared, but a slight varia- 
tion in the marking will not matter so that you make it clear. 

It is needful to write carefully and with exactness, but if we 
say "Front of Judson's" in one scene and "Judson's house" in an- 
other, the director can tell what we mean and he will not refuse 
to purchase the script merely because we did not say "Front of 
Judson's" both times. 

In using the comedy cut back be careful not to overdo. It will 
not stand as much as a drama and if the cut-back is developed to 
too great a length the play will be spoiled. In comedy it is neces- 
sary to get more movement to the action, not in the speed of the 
players, but in the movement from place to place. These scenes 
are practically the restaurant scene with cut backs to the street. 
We cannot stay long in the restaurant. We must move on to 
other places to gain variety. 

It is well for the beginner to practice writing cut -back's without 
reference to the rest of the story. Keep working on cut-back inci- 
dents until you have learned the best modes of development, for 
the cut-back badly done is worse than straight action. 



CHAPTER XV. 

VALUES AND EMPHASIS 

The emphasis of action — of situation — of acting — through 
busts — emphasizing leaders in action — relative value of 
the players — placing scenes. 

One of the important matters to which most writers, not all of 
them beginners, give far too little thought is the proper placing 
of the emphasis and the assignment of values. 

In the spoken drama the actor speaks more slowly or more em- 
phatically certain words or groups of words to which he wishes 
to attract particular attention because of their greater meaning 
than the general speech. In the printed book these extra — im- 
portant words are emphasized by being printed in italics or small 
capitals. If the words are written a line is drawn under them. 



98 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

In the action it is not possible to speak lines, to italicize or un- 
derscore, but the handling of the action of the story, the situation 
or through the individual acting, it is possible to produce precisely 
the same effect. Take this scene for example : 

2- Lawn- Myra and Holbrook on- John enters- calls Myra- they 
exit. 

In the first scene it was shown that John and Myra are man and 
wife. Played without emphasis, scene two would show that Myra 
is talking to Holbrook and John comes and tells her that it is 
time they should be going home. The scene means no more than 
if Myra had been talking to one of her women friends. It is no 
unusual thing for a woman at a garden party to talk to a man 
other than her husband. It is the commonplace. 

But give that scene emphasis and at once it takes on a different 
aspect. What we really want to show by this scene is that Myra 
is more interested in Holbrook than a woman married to another 
has a right to be. To get the point over, emphasis must be given 
the fact. Write it this way: 

2- Lawn- Myra and Holbrook close to camera- Holbrook is 
talking earnestly- Myra half eager, half reluctant to 
listen- Holbrook pleads his cause- John enters- stands in 
background a moment- they do not hear him- Holbrook tries 
to take Myra's hand- she gently resists- John comes 
forward- speaks- Myra and Holbrook turn amd rise- John 
leads Myra off- at line Myra turns- looks back at 
Holbrook- he throws her a kiss- she frowns, then smiles- 
exits- Holbrook turns to camera with confident smile on 
face. 

Now the scene will be full of meaning. We can see that Hol- 
brook is trying to win Myra from her duty to her husband. She 
is attracted, but it is plain that she has not yet listened seriously to 
his pleas. John knows of Holbrook's efforts. We have written 
more action than should be given most scenes, but here we need 
greater detail because we are gaining our emphasis through the 
action. You must pass your idea along to the director more fully. 
Now that the fact is established, he will know in later scenes the 
attitude of the three leading characters toward each other, and 
will not need so much business, but this first scene must be em- 
phasized. 

In the same way you will emphasize the heroine's preference 
for one of two suitors. If she leaves one for the other gladly, she 



VALUES AND EMPHASIS 99 

is more fond of the newcomer. If she is sorry to be interrupted, 
her interests lie in the other direction. "John speaks, exits with 
Myra" means nothing much, but if you add that Myra shows im- 
patience at the interruption or turns gladly to John, we know how 
John stands in her estimation. 

Emphasis by situation gives us another means of driving home 
the story. Myra is perhaps rushing headlong to her fate. There 
is no reason why she should. For the purpose of the story it is 
necessary to hold the sympathy to John and to show that she is 
merely thoughtless, perhaps reckless, and is not driven to another 
man through her husband's coldness. We write in a short scene 
showing her happy home life and John's tenderness. Later on, 
when he tells her that she cannot have the child, we approve of 
his action for we remember that it is wholly her own fault that 
she ran away with Holbrook. 

Emphasis by acting is the third means of getting direct em- 
phasis. Rose has just rejected George's proposal of marriage. He 
leaves the house and he passes through the streets to his own home. 

If he merely comes into the scene and walks through it there 
is not much to the action, but if he stops, presses his hand to his 
aching head and passes on, then we know that he feels very badly 
about the matter. Even a slowing down of the acting will bring 
emphasis. 

Emphasis by means of bust pictures is merely directing particu- 
lar attention to some action by showing an enlarged picture of 
this action at the moment of its happening, as was done in Chap- 
ter Six in the matter of the key. 

Sometimes it is better to use the emphasis of action or acting in 
preference to the bust, which should be employed only when 
necessary. Suppose that Hugh wants to put some marked money 
into Frank's pocket through the aid of his accomplice, Vera. At 
the proper moment there might be flashed a bust of Frank's 
pocket with Vera's hands slipping the money into it. This is very 
much the same thing as when a newspaper prints a photograph 
and marks with a cross where the body was found or draws a cir- 
cle around the thumbprint on the safe to call attention to the 
salient feature of the picture. 

But in writing the picture we can get almost the same effect by 
writing the action this way : 

Hugh still talking. Gradually forces Prank toward the 
front of the stage where Vera stands waiting- cautiously 
she slips the marked bills into his pocket and signals 
Hugh that this has been done. 



100 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

In the story of the Count we could not bring him down front 
and so the bust was used, but here the characters can be moved 
down to the front line and there the action can be played clearly. 

Emphasis of action may also be employed to give emphasis to 
the printed leader, since the visual fact, the fact in action, is so 
much more emphatic than the printed word. A leader may be re- 
quired to state that Helen's father objects to Herbert because he 
wishes his daughter to marry a title, but when we see the fact 
on the screen, the meaning of the leader is driven home, so do not 
trust to the leader alone to carry the important announcement. 
Write in a short scene that emphasizes that. You cannot show 
the matter in the scene alone, but the scene forces on the memory 
the fact the leader contains. 

Value has two aspects, the value of the character and the value 
of the scene or situation. 

The value of the character depends upon the relation of that 
character to the story and its narration in action. The maid that 
merely brings her mistress' wraps when she wants to leave the 
house is of negative value. She is little more useful to the story 
than the table or chairs that dress the setting. But if she aids the 
love affairs of her mistress and the hero, finally arranging so that 
the girl can elope, then the maid becomes one of the leading 
characters. 

Having a real value to the plot she should be early and prop- 
erly identified. Show -that she is devoted to her mistress and that 
she is regarded as something more than a mere automaton. Do 
this in the early scenes and then, when her services are needed, it 
does not become necessary to stop and offer an elaborate expla- 
nation as to why the girl should turn to her maid for assistance. 

No character essential to the advancement of the plot should 
be introduced at the last moment. The detective who comes in to 
announce that he has discovered that the villain and not the hero 
killed Banker Kirkham should not be required to identify him- 
self to the cast and to the audience in that scene. Earlier in the 
action write in a leader that the heroine consults the detective 
and then show in a scene who the detective is. Then when he 
suddenly comes into the last scene and points out the villain as 
the real criminal, we know who he is. It is not necessary to halt 
the action while he points to his badge and to the heroine to 
show who he is and who employed him. 

/ Each time a new character comes upon the screen there is a 

! certain relaxation in the mental grip on the plot while the identity 

of the newcomer is determined. Take advantage of that lapse to 

get the introduction over with and then,. whea.the essential action 



VALUES AND EMPHASIS 101 

comes, there is no drop in the interest, no matter how momentary. 
Get all the introductions over within the first third of the action. 
The butler who ushers the detective in does not have to be intro- 
duced, but the detective must be known to the audience and ten 
feet in front of the climax is not the proper place for the intro- 
duction. 

It should be found that not more than four or five characters 
are of real value to the plot. Keep your action to those as much 
as possible. From the nature of things you must have a hero, a 
villain and a heroine. The villain does not have to be a man 
steeped in crime to deserve the name. He may be of as good a 
moral character as the hero himself, but if he is the man who in- 
terposes the obstacles in the hero's path, the man who makes pos- 
sible the element of struggle without which no play is considered 
complete, then he is the villain. 

Perhaps he may only be the other suitor to the heroine's hand, 
the man who keeps the hero from sailing right in and getting the 
right to buy the engagement ring. That doesn't sound like an 
act of villainy, but it is, technically, if not in fact. 

We have, then, these three leading characters. There may be 
twenty people helping the villain, but they are all of less value 
than the villain because they merely espouse his cause. The hero 
may have fifty adherents, but not one of them can equal him in 
value. They are all important to the story in greater or less de- 
gree, but they are not as important to the story as these three. 

Suppose that you ask for a glass of water and a servant brings 
it to you on a tray. The glass, the tray and the servant all figure 
in the action, but the thing of value is the water, which you have 
asked for. The other objects are all less important to you than 
the water, and yet without the glass you could not have had the 
water and without the servant you would not have had the glass. 

The policeman who arrests the villain in the last scene is not 
important. The arrest is the important matter and he is merely 
the means to the end. It is not necessary to identify him, but it is 
necessary to show as quickly as possible the leading characters, 
their relation to each other and, to some extent, their relation to 
the play. 

Having the sense of values will enable the author to plan his 
scenes intelligently. Each scene should advance the story one 
point and should be given place and length in proportion to its 
value. 

It might seem to the beginner at first glance that there can be 
but one place for a scene and that must be its proper place. He 
has been told, moreover, that all happenings should be shown in 
their chronological order and he cannot understand why there 



102 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

should be a proper place, since there is but one place where the 
scene will fit in its chronological order. 

He doesn't stop to realize that there are many things that might 
happen ten minutes before another action or two weeks later with- 
out in the least affecting the story. The villain has to slip the 
marked bills into the hero's pocket before he can accuse him of 
theft, but he might have arrived at that determination after the 
hero knocked him down for trying to kiss the heroine or after 
the scene in which he reads a letter from his lawyer telling him 
that his creditors are trying to make trouble and will do so unless 
he marries the rich heroine and pays his bills. 

It may seem that there is no choice of position, since the re- 
sult is the same, but again the reasoning is mistaken. If the de- 
cision to get the hero into trouble follows the blow it is a crime 
of revenge. If it follows the lawyer's letter it is a crime of greed. 

In the same way, after the hero is thrown into jail we have a 
short scene of the villain gloating over his triumph and another 
showing the heroine in despair. It may not seem to make any 
difference which comes first, but a little thought will bring a dif- 
ferent answer. It is our purpose to make the hero and heroine 
loved and the villain hated. We are sorry enough for the 
heroine, because we just saw her sweetheart carried off to jail. 
If we show her first and then the villain, her scene will add 
strength to his because we have fresh in memory the pitiful 
spectacle of her tears to inflame afresh our resentment against 
the villain. 

We may show that the husband suspects his wife of wrong- 
doing and then run a scene that proves her innocent, but if we 
first proved the wife innocent and then showed the false charge 
we should gain far greater sympathy for the wife. If we want 
the sympathy we reverse the scenes. If we want sympathy to go 
to the husband, we tell of the innocence in a leader without action. 

A photoplay is not a greater or less number of typewritten 
words. It is the best and most complete assembling of certain 
germane facts in their proper order. It is as nice a study as the 
technique of the stage and is as exacting when properly done. If 
you would write a really good photoplay first ascertain the value 
of each character and scene, then place each scene and use each 
character in such a fashion that each gives as much assistance to 
other scenes and characters as possible. 



THE DRAMATIC STORY 103 

CHAPTER XVI. 

THE DRAMATIC STORY 

Easier than comedy to most persons — crime and violence not 
in themselves dramatic — death not always dramatic — 
heart interest makes the strongest appeal— things to 
avoid. 

It would seem that most beginners start in with comedy stories 
with the idea of working over to the dramatic play when they have 
had a little more experience. This is a mistake, for of the two 
the dramatic play is more apt to bring results for the reason that 
the story may carry faulty dramatic construction where comedy 
requires a more exact technical development. 

If they do start with the drama, they try to write "strong' 
stories, and jumble crime, violence, murder and sudden death 
into a horrible hodge podge of plotless nothing. They aim at the 
tragic rather than the happy ending and seem to think that if they 
cram enough sensational incident into their story, the fact that 
it has little or no plot will be overlooked. 

Until literary judgment is formed, the supposedly strong story 
makes the greater appeal to the writer and in that stage of 
progress he is apt to write what he wants rather than what he 
should. 

The really dramatic moment is not the result of an act of vio- 
lence, but the idea back of the act. It is this fact that gives value 
to the cut-back when used in a dramatic story. You do not fear 
the crime. You fear that the crime will be committed. 

There is nothing particularly dramatic in the sight of a man 
standing on the edge of a cliff. Thousands of men have stood 
on the edges of hundreds of cliffs and nothing has happened. 
There is nothing dramatic in that. 

But suppose that we know that the villain has undermined 
that particular part of the cliff so that the removal of a single 
prop will cause tons of earth to fall down the steep, carrying the 
hero along. At once the situation becomes dramatic, not because 
anything has happened to the man standing there but because 
something may. 

Within certain limits we grow more apprehensive for the hero's 
safety as the moments pass. The strain of waiting tells on us, 



104 TECHNIQUE OF JHE PHOTOPLAY 

and this strain is greater — and therefore more dramatic — than if 
we sat watching a fist fight or a duel with knives between the 
hero and the villain. That would he exciting for the moment, 
but there would not be the nervous strain that would be induced 
by the long, tense wait for the moment we think must come. The 
fight is exciting and mildly dramatic, but the hero is supposed to 
have an even chance with the villain and the outcome is in doubt, 
but there is apparently but one outcome of the cliff episode. We 
can only wait with nerves at a tension for the end to come. That 
is truly dramatic. Through the use of cut-backs, as already ex- 
plained, the finish is delayed while the situation grows in tensity, 
but we must first have the dramatic idea to work with, and the 
dramatic idea is seldom, if ever, the actual crime or the act of 
physical violence. 

Two men, each carrying a revolver, enter a deserted shack. A 
shot is heard, or smoke floats out. There is a moment of inac- 
tion. Which man, if either, will come from that door when it 
again swings open? Two went in. Both cannot return; perhaps 
both are dead and the door will not be opened save by someone 
from the outside. There is a far greater dramatic value in that 
moment than if the entire details of a duel should be played be- 
fore our eyes. The anticipation of evil is far more dramatic than 
the sight of evil. Suggest rather than show crime if you would 
be truly dramatic. 

Death is seldom dramatic. It is even capable of being turned 
to farce if overdone. One of the funniest stories that was ever 
screened ended with the suicide of the sole remaining member 
of the cast. All the others had been murdered. It was meant by 
producer and author alike to be tremendously sensational, but 
there is but a short step from the ultrasensational to the travesty 
of sensation. 

Death in itself is not dramatic, but the manner of death may 
be, though it is far more likely that the dramatic will come not 
from the death or the manner of that death so much as from the 
effect that death will have upon the living. 

John kills Jim. The fact that he does so is not dramatic. It is 
the effect that Jim's death has on John's life that makes for 
drama. If he had not become a murderer John would have lived 
on a sober and desirable citizen, but the blow is struck and Jim 
lies lifeless at John's feet. In an instant John's whole life has 
changed. Not only that but the lives of his wife, his children, his 
parents and his friends are affected in lesser degree. John be- 
comes a fugitive from justice. Nell, his wife, is left to support 
herself and her two children. Sam seeks to take advantage of 



THE DRAMATIC STORY 105 

her helplessness to tempt her from virtue. Her struggles to re- 
pulse his advances and remain true to her better self are far more 
dramatic than the fact that Jim is dead. It will make a better and 
more dramatic story, probably, than the escape of John, though 
to the beginner it would seem that the only development from the 
incident of the murder would be the escape of John and his sub- 
sequent wanderings. 

Both might make good stories, but you will find a more cer- 
tain sympathy for the innocent wife than for the escaping mur- 
derer, no matter how great may be his provocation. 

Crime is not in itself interesting. There is nothing dramatic or 
gripping in the theft of a watch or a thousand dollars. If the 
story of a crime interests, it is not because of the crime but be- 
cause of some other factor of the story. The Sherlock Holmes 
stories are not interesting because they are the stories of crime 
and its detection. They are interesting because of the adroit man- 
ner in which the crimes are planned and the ingenuity shown in 
their detection. We admire the cleverness of the detective and 
his opponents rather than in the facts of the crime. To write the 
story of crime is almost to confess oneself lacking in inventive- 
ness. Unless you can write a story to equal the work of Conan 
Doyle, you are either imitating that style or else not even a weak 
imitation. 

Look back on the performances that you have seen. Trace 
them as far back as you can remember. Which stories have 
lasted longest in your memory? What plays of last year can you 
vividly recall? Are they stories that depended purely on crime 
for their incentive, or were they stories in which the crime was 
merely incidental to the story or else wholly wanting? If you have 
the normal mind you will be surprised to find how few stories 
you can remember that drew their greater interest from acts of 
violence. You remember parts of them in a hazy way, but the 
story that made the strongest impression was that in which the 
appeal was made to your head and heart, not to your craving for 
momentary excitement. 

In other words, the heart interest story made the strongest 
and most lasting impression. Why not train yourself to write 
heart interest stories, too? 

But do not confuse heart interest with love interest. Heart in- 
terest is an appeal to the generous emotions, not the relation of a 
romance. Instead of making your appeal with surprise and shock ; 
instead of dealing with vice and crime, you make your points, by 
drawing such gentle, lovable characters that their almost com- 
monplace adventures are made graphic and interesting. 



106 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

Take, for an example, a widow who is trying to send her son 
through college. It is almost an obsession with her. She wants 
to have her boy enjoy the advantages that her husband lacked. 
She wants to give him the chance that is his heritage. 

She saves and scrapes that expenses may be met. The boy tries 
to help by working his way, but he is sensitive. He lacks push 
because he fears rebuff and he keeps so closely within himself 
that he loses the opportunities for earning money that might 
otherwise fall his way. He is out of touch with his classmates 
and his. college, partly because he is too timid to seek to get in 
touch and partly because he does not interest his fellows with his 
colorless personality. 

The mother pictures to herself the social as well as the educa- 
tional advantages. As she plies the needle with her stiff, rheu- 
matic fingers, she loves to think of her boy on the campus, one of 
his class. She figures him as a sort of college hero, and because 
he knows that is her dream, his letters keep up her delusion. 

The boy writes home that he must have a new suit. His old 
will not last much longer. There is no money for clothes. She 
remembers that once, in sport, the lad had dressed himself in the 
clothes that had been his father's wedding suit. The coat nearly 
fitted, but the trousers were far too long. 

All these years she had kept that suit beside her wedding dress 
that is to be her shroud. She had hoped to keep it, but the boy's 
need outweighs sentiment. She gets a pair of his own old 
trousers and cuts down the others to match. 

The suit comes. The quaintly old fashioned coat is bad enough, 
but the trousers do not reach the boot tops. She had forgotten 
that he had stretched up in the three years since he has worn out 
the other pair. He doesn't write home his disappointment, though 
in his first moments of despair and anger he is tempted to do so. 
Her innocent pride in the letters from him will not let him write 
the truth. He makes the old suit do as long as he can, but at 
length the day comes that he cannot wear it longer. With hot 
anger and shame mingling in his heart he puts on the old suit 
and faces the campus. 

His oddity of manner has caused him to be let alone, but now 
it makes the case all the worse. His classmates and the men of 
the other classes unite in laughter at the suit. Half blinded with 
tears of anger and of mortification he rushes off to his room. 

And in that moment comes his mother. A friend has brought 
her to town in an automobile, knowing her desire to see her boy, 
and has dropped her at the campus while he goes about his busi- 
ness affairs. She wears her best, but her best is poor, and this 



( 



THE DRAMATIC STORY 107 

ridiculous old lady asking for the man in the funny clothes is the 
final touch of humor. A crowd of the students quietly follow her 
up the stairs to listen at the door. 

The son, in the anger of the moment, turns on her. In the rush 
of shame and misery he lays his whole heart bare, tearing down 
the air castles that have been years in building. 

Then the old woman speaks, not in reproach but in explana- 
tion. She tells of all her struggles to keep him going, she shows 
her hands, gnarled and knotted with toil. She shows the Geth- 
semnae of her own narrow life. 

And all the time the crowd at the door grows more sober. They 
had come to see the fun. Now they cannot leave. At last the cap- 
tain of the crew rouses himself and enters the room followed by 
the others. He does not give the son money for a suit of clothes ; 
that would be charity. But he does take the boy into the fellow- 
ship of the class, of the college. He makes him one of them and 
there is the unspoken promise that he will be shown the ways by 
which the poorer students may earn their way through college. 
The old lady leaves and the whole class gallantly and reverently 
escorts her to the waiting car. 

Is not that story more gripping in its appeal than the story of 
the man who shoots his best friend, takes to the hills and meets 
death behind a rock standing off a sheriff's posse? For that mat- 
ter doesn't it make more of an appeal than its western comple- 
ment that has been filmed several times ; the story of the lad who 
has turned murderer or thief. His mother comes West and while 
she stays the men hide his real character and force him to keep 
straight that she may not be undeceived. It will take more skill 
to develop a plot like that correctly, but it will make a story bet- 
ter worth while. 

Because a story is simple as to plot it does not necessarily fol- 
low that it is more easy to write. You can make more noise 
with a brass band than with a grand piano, but sometimes the 
pianist is a greater musician than the men of the band and evokes 
more wonderful harmonies. 

In the crime story the incidents will generally carry the charac- 
ters, but in the heart interest story the characters must carry 
the play. In other words the crime story with its rush of inci- 
dent will be so exciting for the moment that the lack of real story 
will not be noticed, but the heart interest story seems real because 
you have made the people real ; so real that their doings interest us. 

Mother love is perhaps the strongest appeal of all, but it must 
be a genuine appeal, a real story of mother love, not merely the 
dragging into a weak story of a mother to save a worthless plot. 



108 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

Patriotism comes next, then love of home, but patriotism is not 
represented by a wildly waving American flag. 

The romance, or love story is next to the crime story, the theme 
most often attempted. All the world loves a lover and his lass, 
and almost any love story with a decently novel idea will find a 
welcome, but there are certain love stories that are so very com- 
mon the author will find it best to leave them alone. 

Out of every hundred love stories written, probably ten are 
written around an elopement. Five more are written around the 
overcoming of parental objection and fully twenty-five — a quarter 
of the entire output — are what Hal Reid has tersely compressed 
into "They love, they quarrel, they are reconciled." Unless the 
quarrel and its sequel differ from the usual run, it is better to 
leave these to others and strike out along more original lines. 

This would seem to be equivalent to saying that love stories 
should be left severely alone. This is not so. Write love stories, 
by. all means, for there is a steady market for them, but seek to 
give some brand new twist to plot or development if you would 
make sales. 

Suppose that we take the "Modern Cinderella" idea. The girl 
loses her slipper and a man falls in love first with the slipper and 
then the owner. This is a master plot that has been used dozens 
of times and not always with much originality to the touches. 
Let us see if we cannot twist it around. 

Nell loses her slipper. It falls on the fire escape below and it 
is found by a young man who occupies that apartment with his 
mother. He falls in love with the slipper and its owner and sets 
it back on the fire escape as a bait for the owner. 

Then he is called to the telephone and as he rushes back the 
slipper is gone — but he can see the janitor's feet ascending the 
iron ladder. He haunts the front steps and eyes the footwear of 
every woman passing in or out. At last he sees the slipper again. 
To his surprise he is not the least bit in love with the owner, but 
there was a girl he saw who has captured his fancy. He wins 
her love. Then he tells the story of the slipper and she confesses 
that it was hers but that after the loss of one and its recovery 
she gave the pair to her maid. He found the right girl after all. 

It will be well to leave the stories of deep passion alone until 
increasing technical equipment will permit you to handle them 
properly. There is but a small chance that the novice will be able 
to handle the incidents of intense passion without becoming 
foolish when most desirous of being impressive. 

Purpose plays should be left severely alone. By purpose play 
is meant a story that in the guise of romance or drama presents 
some argument in favor of public movement. The Edison series 



THE COMEDY STORY 109 

of tuberculosis plays are purpose plays as is that interesting 
comedy that argues that unless you brush your teeth twice a day 
and go to the dentist twice a year you will be sure to have tooth- 
ache and get mad and break up housekeeping. If ycu can get an 
order for such a story and possess sufficient knowledge to handle 
your subject intelligently, it is proper to write them. You will not 
need this advice, but the general writer should understand that 
these plays are not used because they are written. They are 
written to order for use by some certain company. 

Avoid the controversial and propaganda stories. In other 
words, do not seek to air your fads in film. If you do or do not 
approve of Christian Science, the vote for women, or are for or 
opposed to secret societies, cults or sects, parties or movements, 
faith or fads, do not air your views. They will not interest others 
as much as they do you and the maker of films seeks to avoid 
giving offense to anyone. You may write a clever story because 
you are particularly interested in your subject, but there is no 
reason why the film manufacturer should "take sides," and the 
probabilities are that he will not. 



CHAPTER XVII. 
THE COMEDY STORY 

Difficult to write — idea and action must both be humorous — 
developing the idea in comedy action — avoid ridicule — 
personal afflictions not comedy material. 

Few writers, even those well advanced, appear to realize that it 
is more difficult to write good comedy than good dramas. It 
seems so simple a thing to throw together a few funny situations, 
that there is placed on the market a flood of worthless scripts, 
mere incidents as the first book agent story in Chapter Eight, or 
influence stories. 

Back in the dark days of motion picture comedy, when incident 
was considered sufficient by producers who knew no better, there 
were produced a vast number of comedies of a general resem- 
blance. A professor invented a pill or a potion or a magic wand 
that would cause people to sing or cry, to dance, or to kiss each 
other, or whatever it might be. This continued for several hun- 
dred feet and then the victims would turn on the savant, and, 
after a chase, would duck him in the pond or beat him up as 
might be most convenient. 



110 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

Failing an influence, there would be the incident story in which 
Mr. Buttin or Mrs. Nosey went from place to place meddling 
with other person's affairs and always getting the worst of it, or 
there was the frankly chase picture. A baseball was batted out of 
a picture and for the rest of the film, it went upstairs and down- 
stairs, climbed fences and trees and did all sorts of impossible 
things while the actors rushed through the scene in a mad chase, 
overturning animate and inanimate objects and perpetually falling 
over fences, other obstacles and each other. 

Such things once formed the bulk of the comedy production 
and still would be regarded as humorous by quite a large per- 
centage of photoplay adherents, but there exists, on the other 
hand, a well defined demand for something better and the Euro- 
pean 'market will not absorb the chase picture nor will it take 
much incident comedy. 

Today the photo-comedy must be a comedy idea told in hu- 
morous action. In the stage comedies the idea is exploited 
through humorous situation and cleverly written lines. In photo- 
play we may have the situations, but lacking the dialogue, some- 
thing must be found in its place. Since action takes the place of 
dialogue in photoplay, it follows that in the action must be found 
this missing element of comedy dialogue. In the. stage comedy it 
is the dialogue that keeps the audience laughing, in the photo- 
comedy, the funny action must keep things going while the 
comedy idea is unfolded. 

And mind you, the action must be funny not merely grotesque. 
A man slipping on a banana peel may be funny of itself to some 
minds, but if the man in falling trips up the stern father who pur- 
sues the eloping lovers, the action is funny to all because it leads 
to something. It is no longer an isolated act; it has become a 
part of the story. 

There is this difference between comedy and drama that creates 
the differing conditions. In drama the story is strong and ab- 
sorbing. It starts from a definite point and if properly written at 
once claims the interest of the spectator. Each action advances the 
story toward the climax and so the suspense is maintained. In 
comedy the climax is merely a joke. It lacks the grip of the big 
dramatic idea, and so the path from the start to the exposition 
of the climax joke must be made interesting through the comedy 
of action. 

As has been said in an earlier chapter, the comedy script does 
not have to be funny in itself; indeed, the script that reads hu- 
morously is justly regarded with suspicion by the editor, for it is 
almost always found that the humor has been put into the script 
instead of in the action. The point aimed at is a story that 



M 



THE COMEDY STORY 111 

shall be amusing through the action and idea. The script is 
merely the description of the action through which the idea is 
conveyed. In appraising the offering the Editor reads the words 
but he sees the action. He will not appreciate the jest in the 
written script. He wants to see it in the action. Therefore do not 
labor to make the script read cleverly; devote your energies and 
inventiveness to making the action amusing. 

The simplest rule is to give the audience something funny to 
think about and give it to them in action that is, of itself, funny. 
Once the trick is caught — and it is largely a trick — this is a com- 
paratively simple matter to one with a natural sense of humor, 
but the disposition to lightly regard the production of a comedy 
has resulted in the writing of thousands of utterly useless scripts. 
The writer feels assured that his idea is stronger and more ap- 
pealing than much that he sees on the screen and he cannot un- 
derstand why his brilliant script is rejected in favor of one less 
funny. The answer almost always is that the script accepted and 
produced has both the comedy of idea and action where the dis- 
appointed author has either written the idea or the action, but 
not both. 

Perhaps the simplest explanation may be found in such humor- 
ous cartoons as the Mutt and Jeff series. The pictures of Mutt 
and Jeff in varying poses are of themselves amusing and the 
series of six of eight poses may convey a suggestion of comedy 
story, but the greater appeal is made in the dialogue with which 
each picture is supplied. It is the idea back of the pictures that 
makes the pictures themselves funny, and not the pictures that 
give the humor to the idea. The dialogue alone would not be so 
appealing nor would the pictures without dialogue seem as amus- 
ing. It is the combination of the two that brings the fullest effect, 
so give the idea for the brain and the action for the eye and the 
most effective combination is produced. 

Suppose that we take the old variety afterpiece, Bibbs and 
Bibbs, better known to the present generation of theatergoers 
as An Uptown Flat. The idea is that two brothers share the 
same apartment each with his own domestic extablishment, but 
sharing the common rooms. The wife of one is strong minded 
and that brother is badly henpecked. The other brother is the 
dominant character on his side of the house and he browbeats 
his wife. The assertive brother takes the other out and gets him 
drunk in the hope of bringing a change in his domestic rela- 
tions. In the meantime the assertive wife induces her sister-in- 
law to get the whip hand of her husband. The curtain falls on 
the situation turned around. 



112 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

From this master plot 'have been written scores of photoplays 
in which the henpecked husband asserts himself in the last few 
scenes and a few in which the wife changes the situation. There 
is mild humor in the scenes in which the husband is bullied and a 
strong laugh at the finish. Much more can be gotten out of the 
idea with a proper development. 

Suppose that Mrs. Smith is not only the head of her house- 
hold, but shows a disposition to take charge of the affairs of the 
entire neighborhood. She gets into a quarrel with Jones. He 
cannot thrash Mrs. Smith and it would be a poor satisfaction to 
add to the sorrows of Smith himself. Jones conceives the plan 
of helping Smith to regain his rights and at the same time avenge 
the Jones' wrongs. He gets hold of Smith, coaxes him into the 
belief that he can run his household. To his surprise and delight 
Smith finds that he can. There we have the elements of a story 
that contains a larger idea than the original plot of Smith turn- 
ing in sheer desperation. There is more to think about and, if 
properly told, there is more to laugh at. 

But even more can be done with the story. Mrs. Smith knows 
that she has her enemy Jones to thank for the domestic upheaval. 
She sends for her mother; a mistress of strategy. Mother not 
only reduces Smith to proper subjection, but she persuades meek 
little Mrs. Jones that she has rights and in the end Jones and 
Smith are companions in misery. It requires no depth of insight 
to perceive that this idea is twice as amusing because there is 
twice as much idea. 

But in writing the plot of action be careful that the action itself 
is rightly planned. Do not, for instance, write : 



Street- Jones meets Smith and persuades him to defy his 
wife. 



Such a scene would merely show two men talking to each 
other. A leader might tell what the subject of the conversation 
was and thus supply the comedy of idea, but the comedy of action 
would still be lacking. It will be necessary to supply humorous 
action. Suppose that Jones arranges with a prize fighter to per- 
mit Smith to knock him out and so give Smith the moral courage 
he needs. This will add a trifle to the humor o£ the idea and very 
decidedly to the humor of the action. There would be more space 
required, a few more feet of film, but in return for that extra 
length we would gain in the action. Suppose it to be played 
something like this : 



THE COMEDY STORY 113 

9- Gymnasium- Instructor on- Jones enters- speaks to Instruc- 
tor- explains- indicates about Smith's height- passes 
money- illustrates a knockout- hits Instructor- Instructor 
shows he understands- knocks Jones down- "That it?"- 
"Yes!"- Instructor pretends to apologize- Jones says it's 
all right- exits- Instructor laughs. 

Leader- Jones persuades Smith to assert himself. 

10- Street- Jones and Smith meet- Smith has black eye- Jones 
pretends sympathy- secretly laughs- Smith registers that 
he got it splitting kindlings- Jones refuses to believe- 
argues- leads Smith off. 

11- Gymnasium as in No. 9- Instructor on- Jones leads Smith 
in- Smith timid- Jones jollies him- winks at Instructor- 
makes Smith put on gloves- Smith boxes with Instructor- 
very much afraid- Instructor takes first chance to lie 
down and take the count- Jones congratulates Smith- Smith 
swaggers- playfully leads at Jones- knocks him out- 
Instructor rises- helps Jones up- Jones sore- wants to hit 
Smith- Instructor prevents him- takes gloves from Smith- 
they exit- Smith trying to walk like a tough. 

Now we have replaced a mere conversation with action that 
amuses. There are two strong laughs in nine and eleven where 
the knockouts come and a lot of smaller ones that are not 
actually written in but which will suggest themselves to the di- 
rector. We have written in the big laughs because these are im- 
portant, but we have let alone the minor matters because the 
run of action will suggest these to the competent director and 
the incompetent will see nothing at best. 

It is well to try for one big laugh in each scene. Here there are 
the knockouts in the gymnasium scenes and the black eye in the 
street scene. It may not be possible to bring laughs into the first 
two or three scenes of a comedy, because here we have to get the 
story started and there may be one or two explanations to be 
made that are more important for the moment than comedy 
actions, but as soon as the proposition is advanced there should 
be at least one laugh in every scene in a farce. In polite comedy, 
in which the humor of idea exceeds the humor of action, there 
is less demand for comedy action since there is a stronger story 
to carry the interest along, but even in polite comedy it is pos- 
sible to keep the laughs going and this should be done. 

And it will be well to note that while the minor laughs do not 
need to be written in, the big laughs must be clearly indicated. It 
is not sufficient to write that "John says good-bye in a funny 
manner." Tell what it is that makes the farewell humorous. Say 



114 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

that "John lifts his hat — strikes his elbow against gate post — hat 
flies out of hand — he stoops to recover it — stumbles — fall on hat." 
Now the director will know what that "funny manner" is. 

The director is not hired to do your thinking for you. He is 
paid to produce what you have thought out. 

But all comedy action must be backed up by the idea. If John 
is particularly anxious to make a good impression on the girl he 
is bidding good-bye to; if he is particularly anxious to be elegant, 
his failure to gain the effect makes the merely mechanical business 
really funny. Some few persons will laugh at the crushed hat. 
More will discover the humor in the failure of the attempt, in the 
reduction of his pompus vanity. 

If we see that George, visiting his sweetheart in the suburbs, 
has lost his pocket book and must walk all the way home, we are 
inclined to be sorry for George. But, if after the visit, he drops 
into a saloon and gets into a game of poker, being cleaned out and 
then refused car-fare, we are not sorry for him because it is en- 
tirely his own fault. 

The best comedy is good natured. Aim to have your audience 
laugh with your characters, rather than at them. Avoid ridiculing 
physical afflictions. A woman with a hair lip may be amusing to 
you, but it will not entertain the man or woman with a similar 
infirmity, or whose relative or dear friend is so afflicted. This is 
equally true of lameness, blindness or any other bodily affliction 
and true in a greater degree of any story burlesquing religion, or 
some particular religious belief, and race, party sect or faith. 

Not alone because of various censorships, but because of de- 
cency and good taste, do not base your comedies on violations of 
the moral or civil laws. The story of a mild flirtation is amusing 
if the flirtation is not carried too far and the flirt receives his 
just deserts, but you cannot base a real comedy on adultery of 
unchastity and a story in which the humor is derived from the 
success of a swindling scheme will not pass the Editors, let alone 
the censorships, unless the moral is rightly applied. 

Death is not comedy material in any circumstance. Such few 
comedies as have been produced with death or the suggestion of 
death as a foundation have failed to win success. Of course there 
are exceptions to this rule but they are few. 

We will suppose that it is known through the neighborhood 
that Pat Murphy is very ill. His death is momentarily looked 
for. But Pat is getting better, so much better that he gets out of 
bed and beats his wife. The neighbors hear her lamentations and 
word is spread through the neighborhood that Pat is dead. The 
neighbors come with flowers and condolences, only to be driven 
from the door by Pat himself. 



THE COMEDY STORY 115 

This would not be very funny, but it would not be gruesome. 
But suppose that Pat, to fool the installment collector, pretends to 
be dead. The crape is displayed on the door, the undertaker 
comes and measures Pat and when the installment man comes he 
is reminded that the company gives the remaining payments to 
the widow. He goes away and Pat rises from the dead to ex- 
press his joy. 

Here is death and the suggestion of death. It may possibly be 
amusing to the unthinking, but it may remind hundreds of per- 
sons of a more or less recent bereavement and bring tears instead 
of laughs. 

Most Editors will not consider a comedy with a death and it 
will scarcely pay to write for those few who may. 

Comedies, based on overindulgence, should be avoided. The 
use of spirits should be handled with care. A mild case of ex- 
hiliaration, such as Smith has in the book agent story, may pass, 
but a pronounced case of intoxication is disgusting to most per- 
sons no matter how much your appreciation of the story may 
blind you to the actual condition. Remember that the visual pres- 
entation of the offensive is infinitely worse than the written treat- 
ment and that you are writing something to be seen; not merely 
to be read. 

Comedies in which children or animals are abused are not 
comedies at all. Resentment at the treatment of the helpless child 
or dumb brute will far outweigh the highest possible comedy 
value of such a scene or others connected with it. 

It is a mistake to try and turn the familiar old jokes into 
comedies. Most of these are known to the Editor and if he wants 
them he will write them himself. Three productions of the man 
who was thrust into the ball room without his trousers when he 
thought he was going to an ante-room have been made in so short 
a space as a year, but each time those in a position to know have 
found that the story was written by the Editor because comedy 
ideas were scarce and a script had to be done at once. 

It is all right for the Editor to write this stuff because he is 
not offering it as his own idea. You are supposed to offer only 
original matter and if you send in something like that it will be 
argued that if you will steal these commonplace ideas and offer 
them as your own you will assuredly steal less well known 
stories and possibly get the studio into trouble with the copyright 
laws. It is possible that you may succeed in selling one of these 
stories to some editor who had never heard that particular story, 
but if you do you may be assured that on its production at least 
one and possibly hundreds will write the studio, commenting on 



116 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

the idea. This is true of the studio-made story as well as the 
outside product, but the studio story is known to be old. You are 
paid because it is supposed that you have offered something new. 

It is essential that comedy be quick moving. The slow, de- 
liberate action of the dramatic story is not possible. There should 
be no scene longer than thirty feet. If you cannot avoid having a 
longer scene, break it into two or more parts with cut-backs. The 
story that drags ; that moves slowly either in narrative or action, 
will not score a success. Where twenty to forty scenes constitute 
the average full reel drama, the same number may be used for a 
half reel comedy because the action plays so much faster and 
there is need of active movement to the scenes as well as players. 
Polite comedy is played more slowly than the farce comedy or 
farce. 

It is well to keep in mind that comedy does not make the im- 
pression on an audience that drama does, therefore, to spend 
large sums of money in obtaining some special effects would be 
impolitic. The comedy is supposed to be able to "carry itself" 
through its entertaining qualities and not need the aid of strong 
"effects." Plan your comedies for a simple and inexpensive pro- 
duction. 

A manufacturer may spend several thousand dollars for special 
production of a drama, but a comedy should cost but little more 
than the salary list of those regularly employed, because added 
money seldom makes return in added effect. 

As a general thing the comedy script runs fuller than that of a 
dramatic story, because in comedy the action is almost as im- 
portant as the story it tells, but at the same time care should be 
taken not to overwrite and a study of condensation will enable 
the author to write as briefly as for drama without slighting the 
laughs. 

Avoid the topical comedy dealing with the affairs of the mo- 
ment. Long before you can get your script into a studio the 
Editor will have had one written if he wants one, but as a rule 
such stories are avoided unless the appeal is international. 

The new slang phrase, the heat of a political battle, the passing 
fad of fashion or occupation may all suggest a capital story to 
you, but such stories are not of widespread interest, they may 
not even appeal to the entire United States, to say nothing of 
Europe, and so baseball, for instance, is seldom used as a theme 
since the English prefer cricket and France and Germany care 
for neither. 

Stick to the idea that will be as good a year from now and it 
is today and that will appeal equally to the audiences in Bombay 
and Boston and you have a story that is likely to sell. i 



THE TRICK PICTURE 117 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE TRICK PICTURE 

Limited demand for the trick picture story — basis of trick 
work — stop camera — back turning — accelerated speed — 
double exposure — double printing. 

The trick picture as such is in such slight demand that it will 
not pay to write this class of stories except on a positive order. 
Trick work is both tedious and expensive and unless exceptional- 
ly well done is not in great demand. An idea of how trick work 
is done will help the author to understand how certain effects 
may be gained in straight dramatic stories, but it should be un- 
derstood that this chapter is for the information of the author 
and not to enable him to explain to the director how the effect 
may be gained. 

There is a common belief that "anything is possible to the 
camera through trick work" and that statement is entirely true, 
but it should be qualified by the additional fact that many of 
these trick methods will give a cost far in excess of the benefit 
of the effect gained, and so, while the effect is possible, it is not 
practicable to do the trick work required. 

The basis of most trick work is stop camera, double exposure, 
double printing trick turning, or stopping down. 

Stop camera is just what the term implies, a stoppage of the 
camera. For this a special gear is used, giving one picture to 
every turn of the crank. This makes it possible to take but a sin- 
gle picture and yet be certain that the lense is covered, which is 
not possible where the usual sixteen to the second handle is em- 
ployed. Some cameras use the four to one, attachment, which 
means that one picture is taken at the regular speed every quarter 
second. 

This device is employed where the familiar doll drama is used 
in which dolls seem to perform the actions of the drama instead 
of players of flesh and blood. After each exposure the positions 
of the hands and legs are changed in the same degree that a 
film shows the limbs of regular players to move. If it takes four 
frames to show the downward movement of an arm, it requires 
four exposures and four changes to get the same effect with the 
doll. When the film is run off the action appears continuous. 



118 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

though the action in a five hundred foot picture may have re- 
quired months of care. 

Stop camera, but with the regular attachment, is also used to 
produce sudden apparitions, or to exchange dummies for real 
players. We will suppose that a character has been thrown from 
a cliff or an upper window. The upper window in the scene, is 
set on the stage floor and the drop is less than three feet, but 
going outside the building selected for the other half of the fall, 
a dummy is dropped into the scene, dressed to represent the actor 
playing the part. The camera is stopped, the position of the 
dummy noted accurately and while the dummy is removed the 
actor takes its place as nearly as possible. The camera is started 
again and the action is continued. If the substitution has been 
deftly made, the effect is startlingly real. 

If players are on the scene, the director cries "Hold!" and at 
the warning they remain in the exact position they have as- 
sumed and maintain that until the command is given to resume 
when the incompleted action is finished. 

This also permits the substitution or removal of furniture or 
other articles or players where an instantaneous appearance or 
disappearance is required. 

When Faust summons the Devil by incantation he turns to the 
point at which the Devil should appear. Holding this position 
rigidly, the camera is stopped and the Devil steps into the scene. 
The fuse of a smoke bomb is lighted and the camera started. 
When the bomb explodes in a puff of smoke, the Devil steps 
through the smoke, Faust cowers in fear and the action proceeds. 
In the cutting room the portion of the film between Faust's sum- 
mons and the explosion of the bomb is cut out, with the result 
that as Faust points, there is a puff of smoke through which the 
Devil seems to appear. 

Back turning is used for reversing action. In all cameras the 
unexposed film is passed down from the top magazine to the bot- 
tom box, halting behind the lense for the instant required for 
exposure. This gives the straightforward action. But by chang- 
ing the gearing, the film can be run from the bottom box into the 
top, giving action completely reversed. 

Suppose that Jim, the brave young fireman, loves Nell, the 
daughter of his engineer. So does Bill, the evil switchman. Nell 
refuses to marry Bill and he swears that Jim shall not marry her 
either. He trusses her up and lays her on the track to be run 
over by the very engine of which her father and Jim are the 
crew. Jim sees a woman on the track and rushes along the run- 
ning board to the cowcatcher, picking up the girl as the train 
sweeps past. 



THE TRICK PICTURE 119 

Even with the train running slowly it is possible that Jim 
might fail to catch Nell, with results that would be unpleasant to 
Nell, to say the least, so back turning is resorted to. The train 
backs into the scene with Jim carrying Nell. At the proper spot 
he stoops and lays her on the track. Then in reverse he pretends 
to be preparing to pick her up. This is the way the scenes will be 
written to "cover up" the trick: 

15- Railroad, track- Bill enters, carrying Nell- lays her on 
track- exits. 

16- Up the road- Train runs through scene. 

17- Back to No. 15- Nell struggles desperately. 

18- Nearer point- Jim comes through cab window- runs to cow- 
catcher. 

19- Back to No. 17- Nell struggling. 

20- Train- Jim on cowcatcher. 

21- Back to No. 19- Train comes into scene- Jim catches Nell 
up- train through scene. 

It will be perceived that only one brief scene is played in re- 
verse and then the audience is too busy with Nell and Jim to 
note that the smoke is going down the stack and that the wheels 
are turning backward. It will also be noticed that we have mere- 
ly indicated the effect we desire, not stopping to tell the director 
how to get the effect. 

Another trick, that of turning, is employed here to get the effect 
of rapid motion while in reality the scene is played very slowly. 
It has already been explained that turning the camera slowly 
will give the effect of rapid motion and vice versa, and here slow 
turning gives the train a speed in excess of its actual motion. 

There is one other form of trick turning, generally employed 
only in comedy, where the one-to-four crank is used. Now we 
get action four times as rapid as is natural and the characters 
seem to jump from spot to spot, a curiously intermittent effect 
that almost always brings a laugh, though the effect has been 
sadly overworked and has become almost as much a thing for- 
bidden as the chase. 

Double exposure and double printing are two ways of arriving 
at the same end. The film may be turned back and sent through 
the camera twice or two negatives may be made and printed, one 
over the other, on the same piece of positive film. In the former, 



120 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

generally used to show the same actor on the scene in two places 
at once, it is customary to make one print with scenery and one 
against a box of black velvet. This is lined, top, sides and bot- 
tom, with black and is better than a straight curtain because there 
is practically no reflection of light from the cloth. The actor 
stands in front of this cloth, dressed in light clothes and is regis- 
tered on the film. His actions are carefully timed to correspond 
with the actions already registered on the film, a slow and tedious 
matter of repeated rehearsal. A quicker method is to use a mask 
and take but one-half of the scene at a time, but this requires that 
the players shall not cross from one side to the other across the 
dividing line, and limits the action. 

A combination of double exposure with mask or stopping down 
gives visions and dissolves, the fade also being done in this 
manner. 

Most persons are familiar with the iris disphragm of the regu- 
lar camera lense and know that by turning a ring or button the 
opening can be enlarged from a pin point hole to one almost the 
size of the lense barrel. The smaller the opening the less light 
there is passed through to affect the sensitive film. Because of 
the speed at which they are taken, the almost full opening is used 
for motion pictures. Stopping down gives a night effect, for night 
is merely the absence of light. 

In a vision the film is first run through with a mask just in 
front of the film that cuts off that section of each frame where 
the vision is to appear. Then the film is run back, the mask is 
changed to one that uncovers only the space for the vision and 
that is made. 

In dissolves no mask is employed, but stopping down is re- 
sorted to. We will suppose that Cinderella mopes by the fire and 
her fairy godmother is to appear. As Cinderella strikes a pose 
suggesting her deep depression, the cameraman starts to stop 
down the lense. Less and less light is passed through to affect 
the film until the diaphragm is down to the limit and there is lit- 
tle more than a trace of a picture registered. 

With the diaphragm still closed, the film is turned back to the 
place where the stopping down commenced. This is an almost 
full picture, but gradually grows less distinct. Now the Fairy 
steps into the scene and the camera turns again. This time the 
diaphragm is closed to give but the faintest image, but as it 
gradually opens the picture grows more and more distinct. It fol- 
lows that if the opening of the diaphragm is done in precisely the 
same manner as the closing was accomplished, that all parts of 
the picture will be equally exposed except the figure of the fairy. 
This at first is no more than a misty effect gradually taking shape. 



THE MULTIPLE REEL 121 

We will suppose that at the start of the dissolve the light value 
is 9 and gradually runs down to a value represented by a I. Now 
the second time the initial exposure will be i and the last 9. It 
follows that all parts of the picture that have been seen twice 
have a light value of 10 but the fairy starts with an intensity of I 
and runs up to 9, getting the full ten on the next exposure, be- 
cause she was on the scene only one of the times that the film ran 
through. A fade from one scene to the next is done in the same 
way, but now the camera is stopped down at the end of the first 
scene and opened as the second scene is begun so that one scene 
dissolves out as the other dissolves in. 

It will be seen that with the exception of straight back turning, 
all trick work involves much labor and time-expense. Be chary 
of the use of tricks unless you can feel assured that the effect 
gained will be well worth the trouble and expense involved. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

THE MULTIPLE REEL 

The series story — the preparation of the script — how to break 
into parts — numbering the scenes — the synopsis. 

Stories in two or more parts are known as multiple reels or 
two, three or four-part stories as the case may be. While this is 
undoubtedly the story of the future, its special technique is still 
so new that few definite rules may be laid down. 

Some companies want stories in which each reel or part shall 
be capable of being used as a single reel independently of the 
other reels or parts. This is because a story may be found not 
strong enough in interest to run for two or three reels and yet 
one or more of the parts may be made into good single reel 
releases. 

The more general demand, however, is for a series of reels with 
a continuous subject, each reel terminating with a minor climax 
with the grand climax at the end of the last reel. For this no 
better example can be given than the play of the stage. At the 
end of each act there comes a definite stoppage of the action at a 
point which leaves the audience eager for the continuation. At 
the end of the first act the villain declares that the heroine shall 
be his and the curtain falls on this situation, leaving the audience 
wondering how he is going to bring this to pass. We are eager 



122 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

for the curtain to rise again that we may have our curiosity 
gratified. At the end of the second act the hero is being led off to 
jail on a trumped up charge, while the villain takes the heroine 
off on a yachting cruise very much against her will. This is a 
pretty state of affairs and we wonder how things are ever going 
to right themselves after all this mix-up. We know, because we 
have been to the theater more than once, that it will all straighten 
out in the last act and that the villain will get the worst of it, but 
the situation is interesting and we wish we were up in the gallery 
along with the rest of the kids that we might hiss the villain, too. 

A third form is the disconnected series, such as the Vitagraph's 
Lambert Chase series in which each story is complete in itself 
and yet employs a central figure, that of the detective. Some- 
times these series of stories are all written by the same person or 
the task lies between three or four studio writers, but some of 
them are open to any writer who may be able to catch the trick 
of writing precisely what is wanted. 

It is not a wise plan to write especially for any particular player 
or series, but if you have a story that might do, send it to the 
studio with the suggestion that it might do for that series. If 
you write a special story and fail you must change it about to 
suit the more general market, and it seldom pays to write par- 
ticularly for one character or player. 

The fourth style is the serial series, of which the first was the 
Edison, What Happened to Mary, written by Bannister Merwin. 
These are precisely the same as the monthly or weekly install- 
ments of a published serial and must be written by the same 
author that the unities may be preserved. 

In trying to sell the serial series it is best to submit the general 
idea to the company with which you hope to do business. If they 
approve, then submit a full synopsis of each installment and sub- 
mit them all at once. If these synopses are approved, then the 
script may be developed in full. 

This is more a matter for the advanced writer, who, by that 
time, will need no instruction, so the remainder of this chapter 
will be devoted to the straight multiple reel. 

Methods of preparing the script differ as greatly as the de- 
mands of the story. Some editors prefer the single script without 
the dividing point marked, others want the parts marked in but 
the script as a whole, while some desire a separate script for 
each part. 

In any event one synopsis and one cast should be made to cover 
the entire story. The synopsis may be little longer than that for 
the single reel. It is possible to use three or four hundred words 



THE MULTIPLE REEL 123 

instead of being limited to 250. The cast is apt to be lengthy and 
this is all the more reason why care should be taken to provide 
for the doubles. 

We think the best scheme is to number the scenes in consecu- 
tive order from 1 as far as they will run. Other schemes are to 
use Arabic numerals for the first reel, letters for the second and 
Roman numerals for the third. This is apt to prove awkward 
and a better scheme is to use the Roman and Arabic in combina- 
tion, scene seven, of the first reel, being I-7, and the tenth scene 
of the third reel being III-10. The straight numbering will be 
found to be the best for the entire subject will be produced as one 
script and the scenes in the second and third reels that are made 
in the same sets and locations used for the first will be made at 
the same time. By having only one scene of the same number 
there is no possibility of confusion. 

One point to observe is that the minor climaxes or critical mo- 
ments shall fall every thousand feet. This may bother you at 
first, but a little practice will show you how to write about so 
much action to each reel. You cannot tell precisely how the 
action will run unless you are intimately acquainted with the di- 
rection methods of the man who will produce your script, and 
even then you will be none too certain. In writing a magazine 
serial you know that the breaks should come at the end of each 
five, eight or ten thousand words as the office rules may require, 
but in writing action you cannot judge by the number of words 
and must depend upon the general run of the action. 

The multiple-reel is no more than a very strong one reel story 
fully told. Tell a good strong story and you have a multiple 
reel. Some two part stories are no more than one reel stories 
produced with unusual care. Others have more story while still 
another form fills in with battle scenes and Indian fights to cover 
the lack of a full story. 

There should be no more leading characters for the three reel 
story than for the one. The same combination of hero, heroine 
and villain should serve for all parts of the story. There will be 
a greater number of secondary characters, but the leads will re- 
main fixed whether the story is in one part or ten, because the 
whole story deals with one leading character precisely as the half 
reel does. 

Most of the military productions are produced from studio 
scripts or from one reel stories that permit amplification. As a 
general thing it is better not to mark in the battle scenes too 
strongly. Give plenty of room for their introduction and a rea- 
sonable excuse, but leave the rest to the director who will know 



124 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

the lay of his land better and be better able to plan the exact 
movement of the spectacular scenes. 

It will be a good plan to start with the one reel and gradually 
work up to two and three. Get your groundwork laid in on the 
short subjects and when you come to write the longer subjects 
you will find them surprisingly easy. The most difficult story to 
write is not the three reel story but the three hundred foot farce 
with a real plot. 



CHAPTER XX. 

ADAPTATIONS 

Adaptations not desired — studio staff is better equipped to 
write these scripts through their knowledge of just what 
it required — preparing for adaptation. 

There is practically no demand for the adaptation of stories, 
plays, songs, poetry or historical events whether the originals be 
protected by copyright or not. 

It stands to reason that the studio writer is as well, if not bet- 
ter equipped, technically, as yourself and that you can offer the 
studio nothing that it does not possess. You have the advantage 
over him only when you offer originality. In 1909 we wrote an 
author in regard to the situation and these words still hold good. 
We said: 

"The idea of asking you to contribute is to get your ideas. We 
have the technique here in the studio, but we cannot, very 
naturally, think up all possible plots. We can think of only such 
as the men employed are capable of devising. This is not always 
enough to keep the directors busy, so we ask your help and are 
willing to pay for it, but we want your ideas, not technique alone. 
That we have. 

"It stands to reason that the staff can make a better adaptation 
than you can. We know what we have in the way of outside lo- 
cations and what the scene dock has and what can be made. We 
know the costume room and the resources of the property man. 
You might hesitate to call for a marble terrace, for instance, but 
we would write in several because we know where we can bor- 
row a country estate. Most of all, we know our people and just 
what they can do." 

That is precisely the situation today. No studio staff can think 
of all the ideas and so they are willing to go into the market and 



ADAPTATIONS 125 

buy ideas, but all studio staffs possess not only technique but an 
intimate knowledge of the resources of the studio and the capa- 
bilities of the players. They know that Miss Blank would be bet- 
ter in Romeo and Juliet than in As You Like It, because she does 
not look well in tights and that while Mr. Dash is a heart 
breaker in evening clothes or well tailored business suits, he 
would look like an ass playing Romeo or Orlando, so they will 
adapt Romeo and Juliet, but they will write Romeo for Mr. 
Two star, who can wear romantic dress and not look silly. The 
outside writer would try and fit Dash because he and Miss Blank 
generally play opposite each other. 

If you have ideas for sale, offer them. If you lack ideas, do not 
seek to vend the ideas of another. 

But it is to be supposed that some of the students of photoplay 
seek studio positions and that some will realize their ambition. 
Others will profit through making adaptations for the practice 
they gain in technique, and for their benefit a few suggestions are 
offered. 

First of all, study the book. Read it over several times until 
you are thoroughly familiar with the incidents and characters. 
Let the latter become as real to you as flesh and blood persons. 
Read back of the printed lines for their modes of thought and 
their emotions. Note each incident not alone by itself but in its 
relation to the other incidents. You will probably find a thread 
of main plot and one or more side issues. Mark which each is. 

Next, mentally or on paper, arrange the incidents in chronologi- 
cal order. It is seldom that a novel or story is written in exact 
chronological order, but a play must follow that order exactly. 

Perhaps the best example of this is to be found in the Vita- 
graph's three-part Tale of Two Cities. Dr. Manette's story, 
which is found well along in the book, is not related as a story, 
but the incidents of which the story treats are assigned their 
proper place in the film. 

We cannot, as in fiction, turn back in the middle of the story 
to relate matters that happened before the first chapter. If Geral- 
dine is not the daughter of the wealthy Samuel Sinclair, but a 
foundling left at his door one stormy night, we cannot explain 
this in scene nineteen, where Aubrey Armstrong, her sweetheart, 
learns for the first time of her origin. It might be put in with a 
leader, but it will give a greater dramatic value in visualization 
if we know all along that the child is a foundling and are sorry 
for both Aubrey and Geraldine, so first show that dark and 
stormy night no matter where the author places the incident. A 
photoplay should be like a calendar with each day in its proper 



126 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

place. We cannot move Christmas over into May or bring Easter 
down to the Fourth of July. 

Having; arrayed these facts in proper sequence, throw out all 
that do not actually advance the main plot and see if you have 
enough action left. See also that the main plot is not too de- 
pendent on the side action. If more action is needed, add some 
of the other material. Do not try to get in all that the author 
got in merely because he did get it in. Make your great aim to 
get the story down complete without regard to the padding or 
the literary style. You are concerned only with the main story. 
If you can get that all down it is sufficient. 

In adapting plays the process is much the same. The action is 
divided into scenes and acts, but it may be that a single sentence 
in the dialogue of the last act will indicate a scene in the early 
part of the photoplay or even a succession of scenes. 

In the earlier version of this book we used the hunting scene, 
spoken by Lady Gay, in London Assurance, as an example of the 
fact that the visualized drama presents greater opportunities than 
the stage play. This time we can point to the Reliance production 
in support of the statement. 

Poems and songs lend themselves to broader treatment as a 
rule and permit or even require the interpolation of other scenes 
and incidents to supplement the rather meagre plot that can be 
conveyed in brief verse. The Selig production of Sally in Our 
Alley, adapted from the song of that name by Miss Hetty Gray 
Baker, is a case in point. There was little to the song-poem. 
Miss Baker supplied her own plot and sold it to Selig from the 
outside. To all practical purposes it was her own play, though 
carrying a song title. On the other hand the same company's 
The Vagabonds was a straight adaptation of that poem and 
probably would not have been purchased from an outside con- 
tributor. 

Each studio employs one or more men whose knowledge of 
classic and current literature is at least as extensive as your own. 
Do not try to sell your literary knowledge to them either as 
adaptation or original work. If you do Romeo and Juliet in 
modern dress, give it some modern twists to go with the new 
dressing. 



THE TALKING PICTURES 127 



CHAPTER XXI 

THE TALKING PICTURES 

How they are made — the limitations — timing the picture — 
range of subjects — their future. 



This little book is intended for the man who writes photoplays 
and the talking picture does not properly lie within the scope of 
this volume, but a few words on the subject will lead to a better 
understanding of the situation and its relation to the photoplay or 
silent drama. 

The talking picture is no more than a sketch or play reproduced 
by means of motion pictures and the phonograph working in 
synchrony, that is, the phonograph says "Curse you, Jack Dalton" 
at the same moment that the pictures show the player enunciat- 
ing these words. That, at least, is the theory, but in practice it 
frequently happens that the phonograph is ahead of the picture or 
vice versa. 

Thomas A. Edison is not the inventor of the talking picture, 
nor does he claim to be, but his perfection of the phonograph for 
use in connection with his form of the device enables the record 
to be made at the same time that the picture is. In many forms 
the record is first made close to the horn and then, while the 
record is run off the players again repeat the speeches while they 
are photographed. 

At the time this chapter is written certain mechanical difficul- 
ties confront the maker of talking subjects. Perhaps the most 
important is the limited duration of the phonograph record, neces- 
sitating the breaking of scenes on the stoppage of one record and 
starting fresh on the next where the scene runs longer than the 
six minutes that the record runs. Various schemes are being 
tried, but with this we have nothing to do, our interest lying on 
the play and not the mechanical side. 

For a time at least, the scenes of the talking picture must be 
held indoors, because of the weight of the apparatus and the at- 
tention it would attract on the street. 

Talking pictures are written precisely like any other stage play 
since the talking picture is precisely that, but as a rule the action 
or stage directions are written in more fully than with the drama 



128 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

of the stage, since the action must be figured with the speech in 
writing the play to an exact measurement of time and film. 

Some of the productions are confined to one scene and six 
minutes, and others run up to five hundred or one thousand feet. 
If the author desires to try his hand at the talking picture script 
he should first advise with the companies as to length. 

Dialogue is no more than speech written down, the speech of 
every-day life. It is on this point that the average stage dramatist 
fails at the start. He seeks to produce dialogue that will read well 
rather than that which can he spoken naturally and convincingly. 
He ventures as closely, as he may dare to the blank verse of 
Shakespeare. The real dramatist, to the contrary, strives to re- 
produce as closely as possible the speech of every day life. It is 
not necessary to use flowery phrases and rounded pauses. Say: 
"Please hand me that glass of water," rather than : "I pray thee 
give me drink." 

Remember that dialogue on the stage is spoken a trifle more 
slowly because of the need of clear enunciation, nowhere more 
important than in the making of phonograph records, and allow 
for this in judging the length to which the dialogue will run. 
Make full allowance for the business and by-play and remember 
that even in a sustained conversation there will be a pause of a 
part of a second between speeches. 

Few characters should be employed and no effort may yet be 
made to produce mob scenes. Have the character drawings clean 
cut and accurate, do not have all of your people talk in the same 
general way. Give personality to their speech as well as to their 
actions and apparent modes of thought. 

For a time, at any rate, only the advanced writers can hope for 
any marked degree of success. 

Talking Pictures are more important to the photoplay writer 
because of their supposed influence upon the silent drama. 

It is not probable that talking pictures will seriously affect the 
photoplay proper, for the chief charm of the photoplay lies in its 
condensation of action. In the quickness of movement that per- 
mits a reasonably full story to be unfolded in twenty minutes of 
action. 

It was this quality which gave it its advantage over the stage 
drama as much as the cheaper price of admission. One may wit- 
ness three plays within an hour, though those same plays might 
require two or three hours for presentation were it necessary to 
speak all of the dialogue. A gesture may often replace a page 
speech and a situation show more than minutes of dialogue could 
tell. It is not probable that this condensation of action will be re- 
placed by the talking picture, which has as its advantage over the 



COPYRIGHT AND THE COPYRIGHTED STORY 129 

drama of the stage only the fact that players of greater merit 
can be employed in the parts since the presentation has to be 
made but once. 

Against this advantage there are so many disadvantages to be 
considered, that it is highly probable that the talking and silent 
pictures will have little, if anything in common. 

The talking picture lacks the element of condensation, it can- 
not be used as universally as the photoplay, since it will appeal 
only to those who can understand the language spoken, and it will 
be a long time before the mechanical difficulties can be overcome. 

Certain alarmists affect to see in the talking picture the doom 
of the photoplay, but most experienced observers are agreed in 
the belief that the talking pictures can do the photoplay little or 
no harm either in the present or at some future time. Undoubted- 
ly the talking pictures will be brought to a greater point of per- 
fection as time passes and will become a regular form of theatri- 
cal amusement, either by themselves or in the vaudeville theaters, 
or both, but it is highly improbable that they will prevent or even 
appreciably retard the advance of the silent drama. It will be 
more interesting, perhaps, to both see and hear a Bernhardt in 
Camille, but many will prefer a Camille lasting perhaps three- 
quarters of an hour to a performance continuing for three hours. 

Talking pictures may supplement, but they can never supplant 
the photoplay. 



CHAPTER XXII. 

COPYRIGHT AND THE COPYRIGHTED STORY 

What copyright is — what protection afforded — manuscript 
not copyrightable — what may and may not be taken from 
the copyrighted story. 

Probably no question is more frequently asked by the novice 
than just how far it is possible to go in using the material of a 
story protected by copyright. 

Sometimes, indeed most often, the question seems to be asked 
in all sincerity, but all too often the question is phrased so clearly 
that it reads. "Just how far may I proceed in stealing the work 
of another brain and get away with it?" 

The answer in either case is simple. You may derive inspira- 
tion but not material, from the work of another. Just what in- 



130 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

spiration means is a matter between you and your conscience, 
since it is not easy to draw an exact line that may not be crossed. 

Suppose that you read a story of a girl who has married the 
wrong man. He treats her brutally. She shoots him, not alto- 
gether in self-defense. The purpose of the book is to argue that 
a .32 bullet for the man is better than an arsenic tablet for the 
woman. 

If you write of a woman who marries the wrong man and 
shoots him, you've taken too much from the story. Suppose you 
argue that she should have left him, should have tried harder to 
reform him or, in short, anything but killing him. The further 
you get away from the story, the safer you are from a charge of 
theft. You'll probably stay within the legal rights. But suppose 
that this story gave you the idea of a similar match in which the 
birth of a child drove the pair still further apart but its death 
united them. 

In such a case you can take your check with a clear con- 
science, for you have not stolen the idea. You have merely given 
an impetus to your own imagination through reading the product 
of another imagination. That, perhaps, is the surest test. If you 
work your imagination and direct it rightly, you have produced 
instead of copying. 

You can take the start or the finish or perhaps take a part of 
the middle and use it for a start. Once you have a start, if you 
possess imagination, the rest is easy, but if you have no imagina- 
tion you cannot write photoplays and it is useless to try and be- 
come a literary burglar because your sins will find you out. 

There is a commercial as well as moral side to this matter. You 
may be able to sell a few stolen stories but you'll soon become 
known for a thief and have that reputation precede you into 
studios you never visited. More than one promising career has 
been wrecked by taking too much inspiration. 

If the above paragraphs do not apply to you, they are not 
meant for you, but so many take up photoplay without previous 
literary experience that it seems to be necessary to lay down 
these facts with seemingly undue emphasis for the benefit of 
a few. 

Now for copyright itself. If you have produced a play, a book, 
a lecture, a painting, a song, a statue, a drawing, a map, or a de- 
sign and fear to publish the same lest others copy your idea, 
the government says in effect : "Go ahead and dedicate your work 
to the public, then give a copy to the Register of Copyrights. If 
John Smith reproduces your work he will have to stop it and give 
you all the money he has made, because we have enacted a set of 



COPYRIGHT AND THE COPYRIGHTED STORY 131 

laws to that effect. All you have to do is to register your work 
to give notice that this is what you claim protection for." 

Now you can give your work to the world through publication, 
and if anyone infringes your rights you have a clean cut set of 
laws exactly defining your rights, but first you must publish that 
work or "dedicate it to the public" as the law reads, and next 
you must give to the copyright office one or more copies, accord- 
ing to the classification of the article, and say in effect "This is 
what I claim protection for." 

If you claim the copyright protection without registering the 
article then you not only have no protection, since you cannot 
prove in law that you wanted to protect it, but you are liable to a 
fine for having claimed copyright without having actually copy- 
righted the article. 

You can copyright a book, because you have printed that in 
copies for sale, but you cannot copyright the manuscript of a 
book because that is not offered to the public but is offered to a 
publisher in the hope that he will print it and offer it to the public 
for you. 

Your status is precisely that of the author of a book. If you 
print your photoplay and offer copies for sale, you can claim copy- 
right on the book as a book and the book copyright protects you 
from any sort of infringement. No one but you or a person 
authorized by you, can make a photoplay production of that pub- 
lished book. If you photograph your story you can copyright it as 
a photoplay either as "reproduced in copies for sale" or "not re- 
produced in copies for sale," and no one can make a photoplay 
from your script or turn it into a book or a dramatic play. But 
until you have published that photoplay either as a printed book 
or a photographic film, you are not entitled the protection that 
is offered published works. 

Mr. Thorvald Solberg, the Register of Copyrights, is one of the 
most efficient servants in Government employ in that he is con- 
stantly striving to give the fullest and most complete service his 
department can be made to afford. Twice he has urged upon 
the Congressional Committee that the manuscript photoplay be 
admitted to copyright ; not that he feels that copyright protection 
should be needed, but because so many have sought it. Each time 
the request has been refused and probably will be refused by suc- 
cessive Congresses if for no other reason than that the unpub- 
lished manuscript is as fully protected by common law as is the 
published work by Copyright Law. 

Most authors seem to think that if they could put "Copy- 
righted" on their scripts it would stop possible thieves. Some of 
them do announce their work as having been copyrighted when 



132 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

they know perfectly well that it is not copyrighted, thereby ren- 
dering themselves liable to punishment. 

It is one of the kinks of the law that if you announced that 
your story was copyrighted and then went into court with a suit 
it would "be thrown out under copyright law because it was not 
copyrighted and thrown out under common law because you said 
that it had been. 

In any case all copyright means to you is that you can sue 
under a definite enactment instead of common law. 

Unlike the Patent Office, the Copyright Office does not guar- 
antee against the registration of an infringing claim. Two or 
more persons may register the same book, but since there can be 
but one legal registration, if you can prove that you are the 
original author the rights lie with you, only you must go to court 
and submit to the usual delays and adjournments if you would 
prove your case. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

CENSORSHIP OF FILMS 

National Board of Censorship — Police Censorships — what is 
forbidden, and why — when crime is permissible. 

At present most American-made pictures as well as those made 
abroad and released on regular dates are submitted to the Na- 
tional Board of Censorship, which is in no sense an official body, 
being composed of delegates from the various civic societies form- 
ing The People's Institute, of New York City. The Board 
derives its sole power from the manufacturers whose films are 
thus submitted. There is absolutely nothing to prevent the dis- 
tribution and exhibition of a film not passed by the Board save 
the common sense reason that experience has shown that a pic- 
ture so disapproved will be stopped by the police in many cities, 
not so much because it has not been passed by the Censors as 
because it is unsuitable for display in theaters so largely fre- 
quented by young people. 

The Board was brought into being at the request of the ex- 
hibitors of New York City and has been maintained, largely 
through the contributions of the manufacturers because it has 
been found that the Board renders valuable service in checking 
ultra sensationalism that eventually must react against the maker 
of such films. 



CENSORSHIP OF FILMS 133 

If you will notice the censorship tag you will see that it states 
the film has been "passed" by the Board. At the start some manu- 
facturers used a tag announcing that the firm had been "ap- 
proved" by the Board, but it was explained that the Board passed 
much material of which it did not approve and the wording was 
changed. 

That alteration is the whole story of the Board. It aims at the 
highest ideals, but it passes much that it does not approve of, 
since the material is not vicious. Its rulings and suggestions are 
as liberal as is consistent with common sense and it lays down 
no arbitrary laws but seeks rather to consider the act and the 
reason rather than the act alone. The picturing of a wanton 
crime will be forbidden where precisely the same crime will be 
passed if the commission of that crime is necessary to point the 
lesson that crime must inevitably find its punishment. A crime 
performed in a moment of passion is more apt to be passed than 
a deed done in cold blood. A crime suggested may be passed 
where the crime shown in detail would be disapproved. 

In general the Board bars from stories all pictures based on 
crime and the commission of crime, all immorality and immoral 
acts, the lewd, the lascivious, the vicious, the cruel, the irreverent 
and the irreligious. But while these factors are all barred, 
many of them may be used if done with proper care if used to 
point a moral, lascivious and irreligious themes excepted. These 
are always barred. 

If Smith shoots Brown in cold blood to get the money that he 
knows Brown carries and if this act is performed merely to throw 
a little side light on the character of Smith, the deed will be 
barred. Precisely the same action might be allowed if the object 
was to show that having killed Brown, Smith, though escaping 
the law, found a punishment more terrible in the tortures of his 
own conscience. 

But it is not probable that the Board would pass a film show- 
ing the actual murder, because it is not necessary to show this. 
It is sufficient to show the two men quarreling. There is a cut to 
some other scene and we come back to Smith standing over 
Brown with a smoking revolver in his hand. 

The woman who wantonly gives herself up to a life of shameful 
pleasure is not regarded as the fit subject for a story to place be- 
fore young people. The woman who is led astray and who re- 
pents and is forgiven will point a moral. 

It is best to avoid the underworld and the higher walks of 
crime. Saloons and other places of evil repute should not be 
shown or else shown so briefly as to carry small effect. Keep 
away from the atmosphere of crime and debauchery and avoid 



134 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

as much as possible the showing of fights, burglaries, or any 
other infraction of the laws. The juvenile mind is receptive and 
observant. We question whether they learn much in the picture 
theaters that they have not already learned outside, but it is 
easier to blame it on photoplays than anything else and so photo- 
plays have come in for an undeserved bad name. It should be 
the aim of the author to restore the good name. 

If you write clean and decent stories, you do not have to 
bother about the Board of Censorship. If you want to revel 
in crime and bloodshed you must be careful to keep the actions 
of your character within the unwritten law. And mind you, 
merely because you say that your moral is a good one it does not 
follow that the story will pass. It must be a good one. 

The rulings of the Board are given on the first print of the 
film and before the cut negative is sent to the printing room. 
Therein lies the value of the National Board. It helps the manu- 
facturer to decide just what will pass before fifty to one hundred 
prints of the objectionable parts are made. After the prints are 
made and distributed, the local or police censorships in some 
cities make their own rulings and these, being made by persons 
less well qualified to judge, may result in all crime scenes being 
cut out instead of merely those which are without excuse. There- 
fore, when a story is returned to you with the statement that it 
will not pass, it may mean the local censorships rather than the 
National Board. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE STOLEN STORY 

Do editors steal stories? — a frank discussion of a question 
you are bound to ask — how duplications occur. 

Sooner or later — and generally sooner — every author, whether 
of fiction or photoplay, is bound to ask if Editors are stealing his 
stories. No matter how experienced a writer may be, there are 
bound to come times when he is certain that his stories have been 
stolen by some studio to which he sent it. 

Beyond question there must be some dishonest employees in a 
business so large, and it is useless to argue that stories are never 
stolen, but on the other hand the number of these thefts is 
negligible and in a greater number of instances the charges are 
without foundation. 



THE STOLEN STORY 135 

You send your story to a studio and it comes back. Presently 
you find that the company has released or is about to release a 
story identical with your own. You are certain that it is your 
own and you talk wildly about suits and all that sort of thing. 
It may be that an Editor, having to write a story a week as part 
of his contract has remembered, consciously or sub-consciously, 
the idea of your story, but it is far more likely that the Editor 
found a script he liked and put it in work. It is possible that you 
and the author of this second story both derived inspiration from 
the same source and that the other did his work in better fashion. 
His story was taken because of its development where yours was 
passed over and forgotten. We have seen in a single week's batch 
of stories three to five scripts so nearly alike that they might all 
have been copied from a common source. More than that, per- 
haps two or three more came in the next week and the next. If 
any one of these stories had been purchased, possibly fifty other 
authors would have cried that they had been robbed. They make 
no allowance for the fact that the idea is commonplace and likely 
to suggest itself to anyone. They know only that their story is 
just like that on the screen except a few scenes where the Editor 
had fixed it up. And that it just where the answer lies. The 
"fixing up" was done to the same idea by another author more 
careful or more experienced and his idea sold on that fixing up. 

A farcical story was written and sent direct to a producer in 
the field nearly a thousand miles from the studio, the work being 
done by a writer a hundred miles from the home office. The 
story was produced and immediately another writer declared that 
she had been robbed as she had sent that story to the studio 
some time before. Investigation showed that she had sent such a 
story in after the director had gone south. There was no possi- 
bility by which the other author or the director could have seen 
this script, and the fact was explained to her, but immediately she 
amended her complaint to add the charge that her idea had been 
sent the other author, who really had worked over one of his old 
fiction stories written and published about eight years previously. 

Take another case. A scene from the Solax Spry Spinsters in 
which a spite fence was introduced suggested to a writer a story 
written wholly about a spite fence. The result was an almost 
perfect reproduction of Vitagraph's Suing Susan. Had the story 
been made it would have looked suspicious, to say the least, but 
a vigilant editor caught it in time. 

It is inconceivable that of the thousands of scripts turned out 
yearly by authors many of whom are not practised hands at plot 
devising, there should not be much duplication of idea. It may 



136 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

be that your idea has been duplicated by another, but with a 
better technical development, so that the other is taken where 
yours is declined. It may be that the other was in work when 
yours was sent back and that the Editor did not advise you of 
this fact. 

In time most authors encounter a duplicated story under cir- 
cumstances that make it impossible that their idea has been stolen. 
After that they are cured of this hallucination, but few are im- 
mune from an attack at some time in their writing experience. 

Give the Editors the benefit of the doubt. The probabilities are 
that they are without blame in the matter. No matter what the 
manager of the picture theater may tell you, or the man who used 
to work for a company. The chances are that neither knows any 
more about it than you do, but you seem to want to have your 
doubts confirmed and it is easier to say "Yes" than to argue "No." 



CHAPTER XXV. 

YOU AND THE EDITOR 

A few hints on how to sell to advantage — your attitude 
toward the editor — the slight value of personal pull — 
querying manuscript — lost scripts. 

A few words on the subject of your intercourse with the Editor. 

Most editors are men and women of intelligence, attainment 
and good breeding. They are courteous, helpful and conscientious. 
They are far more eager to buy your script than you are to have 
them, but they cannot purchase it unless it comes up to standard, 
and they cannot spare the time to revise your script when others 
are at hand that will require much less work and present an 
equally good idea. 

If they have time and your work gives promise, they will fre- 
quently give you a hint or perhaps even write you one or more 
letters of advice. If they do it is an entirely gratuitous service 
for which they are not paid by their employer and which is gen- 
erally done solely for the purpose of helping you along. 

If you receive a letter it is entirely proper to return a brief 
note of thanks. Do not fill several pages with gushy thanks — and 
innumerable other questions. Your note should be sincere but 
brief. If the editor elects to reply to this, let that letter be your 
guide, but never seek to force a correspondence. 



YOU AND THE EDITOR 137 

If you receive a script without message of any sort do not feel 
insulted. Most offices use a rejection slip which is enclosed with 
each return, but in some offices the envelopes are given to an office 
boy to fill in and seal. It may be that he will overlook one or two 
and yours may be one of these. If your script is returned with- 
out any printed form, you can guess that it is not wanted, and 
this, after all, is the important thing. 

You may take positive assurance that your script has been read 
by some competent person; not through, perhaps, but to a point 
where the reader is assured that it is not suitable. It is perfectly 
useless to ask for a second reading or to write and ask that you 
be informed just why the script was returned. If you send the 
script it will not be read again and if you do not send the script 
it would be impossible to reply. 

Bear this one fact in mind. The Editor is hired by his em- 
ployer to select from the mass of stuff sent in, the stories suitable 
for the use of that studio and to get these in proper form for the 
directors. It is no part of the editorial duties to instruct you in 
the art of photoplay writing or to engage in an extended corres- 
pondence with you on any subject. It is your part to discover 
precisely what the studio's wants are through a study of the films 
shown on the screen or through a constant study of the synopses 
of releases published each week in The Moving Picture World. 

Few, if any of the studios now receipt for stories, but if you de- 
sire a receipt, you may enclose a postal card with the request that 
it be returned to you as soon as the script is received. The best 
form is simply worded, something like this : 

Your manuscript 

Loved by Another 
has been received and will be passed upon in due time. 

Blank Film Company. 

This is not a receipt in the legal sense for, for by common 
usage it is understood that a studio shall use due care in hand- 
ling scripts while in its custody but that it is not responsible for 
the loss of a story in transit or in the studio. If a story comes 
back all dirty and disfigured, write a courteous note free from 
complaint or sarcasm, returning the script and setting forth the 
facts. Most studios will have the script recopied for you or send 
you a copying fee. 

If you get no action on your story in six or eight weeks, send 
a stamped and addressed envelope for reply, state the title of the 
story and date sent and ask if it has been lost in the mail or being 
held for decision. Take it for granted that it is one of these two 
reasons. Do not ask him why the story has not been read nor hint 
that you are starving to death waiting for a check. 



138 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

In time, if you can obtain no reply to inquiries and feel that 
there is no use waiting any longer, write a note of this tenor : 

Blank Film Co., 

Somewhere, N. J. 
Dear Sirs: — 

Being unable to obtain any reply to my inquiries of (here give dates of all 
letters) I beg to advise you that I shall have the story copied and sub- 
mitted elsewhere and shall hold you strictly responsible for any use you may 
make of the manuscript in your possession. 

That is all that is necessary. Do not waste your energy in 
"roasts" and save your sarcasm. Send this by registered mail to 
the last known address of the company. It is well to show the 
letter to some other person and to register the letter and request 
that a receipt be returned. 

Do not send in the synopsis of a story and ask the Editor if he 
wishes to purchase the script. He cannot tell from the synopsis 
if the plot of action will be good. The nearest he can come to 
judgment will be the supposition that if you know how to write 
you would know enough to send the full script. 

Do not send him a carbon copy to read. Many beginners send 
out the original and three of four carbons to as many studios in 
the hope of getting quick action. Two or more companies may 
start production at the same time and send you checks, with the 
result that you will find yourself in an unpleasant predicament. 
Have only one copy of any story out at one time and that the rib- 
bon copy. If it gets soiled or mussed, make a fresh ribbon copy 
if you want to send it out again. Do not send a carbon and an 
excuse. 

Do not auction off your script by sending out several copies to 
as many studios with the statement that on a certain date the 
script will go to the highest bidder. You will be wasting your 
stamps and spoiling editorial tempers. 

Do not dump your entire string into an office because you have 
sold one script there. If you have succeeded in getting in, aim to 
stay in by sending only your very best work. 

More than one writer has gained a start by selecting a particu- 
lar studio and sending all his best work there, but only his best. 
It may all come back but the repeated submission of good stuff 
will have its effect in time. Eventually you will strike their fancy 
and not only sell but keep on selling because they will know that 
your success was not purely an accident. Naturally the Editor 
would prefer to deal with those who can be counted on to keep on 
sending in good scripts. 



SELF-CRITICISM 139 



CHAPTER XXVI 



SELF-CRITICISM 

Difficulties of self-criticism — lack of proper perspective — in- 
terest in the subject — value of delayed judgment. 

Even the most expenienced authors are not fully competent 
to pass their own work in review and this is one of the reasons 
why the experienced writer is content to submit his work "at 
usual rates." He knows very well that he may like best the story 
that will make the least appeal to others. He lacks the proper 
perspective. He stands too close to his own work to see the 
faults and the merits in their proper value. 

It stands to reason that one does not develop a plot unless he 
thinks that plot reasonably good. He does this work with this 
idea uppermost and it follows that he develops the plot in the 
manner he believes to be the most suitable. When the work is 
done he may set it down with the feeling that it might be im- 
proved, but it is seldom that he can exactly locate the trouble. 
This chapter is not offered in the belief that self-criticism can be 
taught, but to enable the author as nearly as possible to gauge 
and value his work. 

The great essential is time. It is not possible for anyone to 
remove the last sheet from the machine, read over the pages and 
pronounce it to be good or bad. The glow of enthusiasm must 
be permitted to die out, other work must be done to erase, in 
so far as possible, the memory of the story and then, after an 
interval of days or weeks, the script should be taken up with 
the mind as free as possible from the recollections of that story 
and the reasons for working up the idea as was done. 

It is a poor mother who does not think her baby the hand- 
somest and best, and it is a poor author, indeed, who does not 
hold his brain child in similar esteem, but babies may be weighed 
and measured in comparison with established tables and stories 
may, to some extent, be compared with existing standards. 

Do not, in criticism, regard your story as a whole. Take it 
apart and consider each factor separately, then get it together 
again to see that the adjustments are correct; that each part 
bears a proper relation to the whole. 



140 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

The best way is first to dissect the plot and then, with the 
disjointed plot before you, consider the scenes with relation to 
their parts of the plot and the plot as a whole. 

The first step, then, is to catalogue the various incidents. If 
you will turn to the chapter on punch you will see that there 
the story of the bank clerks is dissected into factors. In order to 
work with new material, suppose that we take Mr. McCloskey's 
story of "Auntie's Affinity," which is given in full. 

The first point is that Ethel lives with her Aunt at the hotel. 
The second is that she is in love with Harry. The third point 
is that Auntie objects to Harry, the fourth, that Peitro is the 
chef at the hotel, and so on. A proper tabulation would look 
something like this : 

Peitro is chef at the hotel. 

Ethel and her Aunt live at the hotel. 

Ethel loves Harry. 

Auntie objects to Harry. 

Ethel plans to take a clandestine ride with Harry. 

Auntie goes out alone for a walk. 

She meets a distinguished stranger, who is none other than 
Peitro. 

They do not recognize each other. 

She invites Peitro to visit at the hotel, but he does not dare. 

She makes an appointment for the next day, which she keeps. 

Peitro tells her that he is a Count. 

Peitro proposes and is accepted. 

Peitro buys the ring. 

Peitro loses the ring. 

It falls into the pudding. 

'Ethel finds the ring in her portion of pudding. 

Ethel reports the matter to the office. 

Harry investigates and Peitro claims the ring. 

Auntie is horrified to discover in the chef her Count. 

In the excitement Harry and Ethel elope. 

They return and are forgiven by Harry's father. 

Peitro returns to the hotel insisting on seeing Auntie. 

Auntie is withholding her approval of Ethel's marriage. 

Peitro proves himself a real Count. 

In her delight Auntie forgives Ethel and the picture closes. 

The first thing that strikes us is the excellent and orderly ar- 
rangement of the incident. Discarding some of the love scenes 
between Harry and Ethel which are not essential to the main 
plot, we have the story passing from one point to the other, not 
only in chronological order but in the exact order that will give 
the greatest comedy value. 



SELF-CRITICISM 141 

That is the first point to be looked to. Suppose that instead 
of this arrangement we had excluded from the original draft 
those scenes showing Peitro in the kitchen. This would have 
been a natural move, holding back the discovery of Peitro's oc- 
cupation until scene thirty-five, that the audience might be sur- 
prised. This would be a perfectly natural move, most especially 
to the beginner, but let's think it over. 

If we had not shown Peitro in the kitchen, we would have 
come upon development number seven in scene sixteen with 
Peitro a total stranger to the spectator. Here comes a new 
character. Who is he? We do not know. We not only 
wonder who he is, and lose interest in the action because 
we are busy wondering, but we lose completely the comedy 
of idea. Knowing that Peitro is the chef in the hotel in which 
Auntie is a guest, the meeting at once becomes big with pos- 
sibilities. Auntie's encounter with a distinguished stranger is 
not one-tenth as amusing as the idea of Auntie discreetly flirting 
with the chef of the hotel. 

Note well how the author, realizing the need for showing that 
Peitro does not fill a menial capacity, discloses that Peitro is 
the overlord of the kitchen. Peitro is the czar of his domain and 
in each of the kitchen scenes this fact is emphasized. We feel 
a greater interest in the chef than in the dishwasher and it is 
because he is a chef and not a dishwasher that he is a possibility. 

So this schedule of incident will either show us that the plot 
is properly developed or that it lacks certain treatment. In this 
bare assemblage of facts there is lacking the color of the action 
and we can study the skeleton of the idea and make certain that 
the bones are properly articulated. We can see whether or not 
each new development comes into the story in its proper place or 
not. If we find a fact misplaced it is an easy matter to change the 
schedule. Suppose that we had, as the first development, that 
Peitro was a real Count, the scene perhaps showing him receiving 
the notification. A glance at the schedule would have shown that 
the fact that he really was a count was out of place. We cannot 
get the surprise for the climax from the fact that he is a chef. 
We can get it from the fact that he really is a count. That 
fact might not show from merely reading the storj', but once 
trained to develop plots, the schedule will show almost at a 
glance, and certainly with a little study, whether or not the 
factors are correctly placed. 

Once the argument is properly arranged, take the scenes each 
in its turn. The first two scenes are devoted to introducing the 
characters. Here is the chef of the hotel, here are the proprietor 
and his son and here are Aunt Amanda and Ethel her niece, 



142 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

guests of the hotel. Ethel is in love with the son. Aunt Amanda 
objects. Peitro is first introduced because Peter Lang, who played 
the part, was the star of the production, otherwise the scene 
showing the kitchen might have been used as a break between 
the present two and four. 

About scene twelve we want to show a new side of Peitro. We 
will take him out of the kitchen whites and show him in street 
attire. To see him on the street might have been sufficient, but 
scene twelve performs two services. It shows the change in the 
man and it brings him into sixteen with the suggestion of the 
kitchen still fresh in mind. At first glance the novice might 
consider that scene unessential and put in merely to fill out the 
picture, but it will be seen that it really performs two important 
purposes. 

We note, too, that between twelve and sixteen there are two 
actions carried along; the ride of Harry and Ethel, advancing 
their love affair, and the walk of Aunt Amanda. In the time re- 
quired to show these brief scenes there is plenty of time for 
Peitro to have reached the park for his encounter with Aunt 
Amanda. To take him out of the kitchen and into the park 
would have been too abrupt, but by filling in with other and 
essential action we cover this lapse of time while holding the 
interest of the audience. 

We have under discussion a correctly planned play, one that 
was accorded an unusual amount of praise and which was 
selected on that account, but in examining your own script you 
will probably find that the addition or subtraction of a scene 
or the transposition of one or more scenes will make a decided 
improvement in your work if you take each scene by itself in 
relation to the other scenes and do not merely read the story as 
a whole. 

The story should lead from a simple incident to the crowning 
incident of the play by a gradual ascent. The outline of your 
story should suggest an inclined plane rather than the profile of a 
roller coaster track. If you find that you have too much sag, 
build it up, if an early scene stands out too strongly, tone it 
down or put it where it belongs. In dramatic construction it 
is sometimes planned to have a fall in the dramatic action just 
before the climax, but it is better in photoplay to plan the 
gradual advance. 

There is a third factor to be studied, the characters themselves. 
Do they belong in the story and do they fit each other? Is your 
heroine worthy of the trouble you are taking in her behalf? You 
cannot get your audiences interested in a silly little fool. Is 
your hero of the proper sort? No one cares for a spineless hero 



HOW TO STUDY 143 

who crumples up before the attacks of the villain and must be 
rescued by the heroine. Are the subsidiary characters those best 
suited to advance the plot and uphold the interest? 

If your story will stand this analysis it is apt to be a good 
story, but in order to study the plot, the scene, or the character, 
it will first be necessary to separate it from the rest of the play, 
to first consider it by itself and then in relation to the other 
factors. If you can do this work carefully and without prej- 
udice you can roughly criticize your work if you have the 
knowledge that backs your judgment. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 
HOW TO STUDY 



The value of practice — need for study — the theater as a 
school-room — self-criticism — the value of advice 

This, then, is the technique of the photoplay, the technique 
of form, of construction, of creation. The rest remains with 
you. 

The great teacher is experience. You would not purchase a 
text-book on electricity and after a single reading expect to 
be able to build dynamos and motors, to wire buildings and in- 
stall telephone systems. No more can you read this or any 
other book through and expect at once to write plays that will 
sell. First you must study the rule and then learn, through ex- 
perience, to apply it. 

Do not think that it is sufficient to read this volume through 
once or even many times. Study it. Absorb every fact and not 
the fact alone, but the reason for that fact. In the school room 
you did not merely glance through your grammar. You studied 
the rules and then you practised the application of those rules, 
you analyzed sentences, the relation of each word to the others 
until, at the end, you acquired an instinctive application of the 
rules. You not only learned to speak the language correctly, 
but you knew why you were correct. It is the same way with 
photoplay. Having the rules, you must learn to apply them, to 
pick apart plays and perceive the relation of the scenes to each 
other. 



144 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

Do not believe the misleading statements contained in the 
advertisements of self styled schools which declare that any 
boy or girl can learn to write photoplays. Give no heed to state- 
ments such as one recently to hand that declared that one 
could begin to write photoplays within three hours after re- 
ceipt of instructions. It cannot be done. A reasonably close 
study of a script will enable a person of average intelligence 
to turn out something that is in the form of a photoplay, but 
it will not be better than the form. 

Writing photoplays is as much a fine art as writing the drama 
of the stage or the story in fiction form. The rules differ and 
there is not required the mastery of phrase :.nd literary style that 
are demanded of the other forms, but this is offset by the 
need for being able to write in action so clearly that this action 
is as plain and understandable as the written word. The fact 
that literary style is not required does not also excuse the lack 
of inventiveness, of creative ability, of originality of thought. 
These are, in some ways, more necessary to the photoplay 
writer than to the fiction writer, since the latter is able, to 
a certain extent, to hide poverty of idea behind a plausible and 
fluent expression. Imagination and the ability to direct imagi- 
nation are even more essential to the photoplay writer than 
to the creator of fiction. 

Next, to imagination, the most important requisites are patience 
and persistence ; patience to endure the labor of practise, per- 
sistence to enable you to withstand the discouraging failures that 
will, at first, confront you. It is disheartening to spend days, 
perhaps weeks, even, on a script, only to be told that the idea 
has been used before, but you at least have had the benefit 
of the practice and your time has not been lost. 

Perhaps the most unfortunate thing that could happen to you 
would be the sale of your first two or three scripts. More than 
one promising career has been either ruined or retarded because 
the first few scripts sold promptly. 

It sometimes happens that the novice, coming fresh to the 
work, may have one or more ideas so good that the editor 
overlooks the structual faults for the sake of the uniqueness 
of the idea. Suppose that this happened to you. You would not 
be human did you not attribute these acceptances to your skill 
and not to chance. You promptly conclude that writing photo- 
plays is even easier than you thought and you sink into a 
careless habit of rattling off your ideas without any examina- 
tion of the plot. Everything that comes to you is an idea. 
Promptly it goes down on paper in hit or miss fashion and as 



HOW TO STUDY 145 

promptly it is sent out to some studio. After a while the 
succession of rejections, unrelieved by any acceptances, dis- 
courages you. You stop work, concluding that photoplays do 
not pay. 

If you had made no early sales you would have been ready to 
face the failures through which success is really won, but these 
few almost accidental successes have done their work and you 
are not willing, once the rejections commence, to face the 
long, hard pull. 

Success that comes quickly is seldom lasting nor of real 
value. The success that is won through earnest, persistent 
effort, that is built on hard work and labor intelligently directed 
is the kind that lasts because it is not built on chance. So do 
not be in too much of a hurry to sell. Be prepared to serve 
your apprenticeship that you may become a master workman 
and enjoy a master's privileges. 

iDo not think that you can materially shorten this apprentice- 
ship through school courses. There is a certain amount of 
drudgery that must be performed before you can qualify and 
this work no one can perform for you. You cannot buy success. 
There is only the school of experience and the class room is the 
motion picture theater, but you must regard it, for the time 
being, as class room and not as a place of amusement. 

If you had spent your entire life a hundred miles from 
navigable water, you would not expect to be able to build a 
ship or even a rowboat without having seen one. No plans 
or pictures can fully replace the intimate personal knowledge of 
thorough examination. It is the same way with photoplays. You 
cannot expect to write them without some familiarity with 
the screened picture. If you wanted to build a rowboat you 
would not simply look at it. You would closely examine every 
detail of construction, and this same careful examination is 
required before you can really know motion pictures. 

It is best to go to the theater alone that you shall not be 
disturbed by the comment of a friend and look on the picture, 
not as a diversion, but with much the same spirit as that in which 
the medical student approaches the dissecting table. Your in- 
terest lies not so much in what appears on the surface as what 
may be discovered by deeper investigation. Look not so much at 
the picture as a drama, but as a study. Good or bad it will 
equally well repay your analysis. 

The probabilities are that you are reasonably familiar with 
motion pictures on the screen, in which case you are out of 
the kindergarten and ready for the intermediate course. 

Study, to apply to the filmed picture, the principles here laid 



146 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

down. Note the resemblance between the scenes you see and 
the examples you will find here. Add to your mental classifi- 
cation what you see on the screen. Note the handling of the 
cut-back, the use of trick work, the manner in which the story 
is developed. Educate yourself so that when you study the book 
you can add to the examples cited many more from the plays 
you have seen. 

And note always what it is in each picture that makes an im- 
pression on you. You like this picture. What was it that you 
liked? Was it the acting? Was it the story? Was it the 
production? 

Suppose that your answer is that it was the acting. What 
was there to the acting that won your regard? Was it the 
personality of some favorite player? Look back of that per- 
sonality and see if you can see how the story cunningly con- 
trived to show that player at his or her best. Note how all 
the situations were thrown to that player that your interest 
might be strengthened in the character. The player, no matter 
how good he or she may be, cannot hold your interest if the 
play is not well planned. You think for the moment it is the 
acting, but you will find that, after all, it was the well written 
story; so well written, indeed, that you lost sight of the tech- 
nique in the interest you felt in the character. 

That is the true technique; not to show that you are deliber- 
ately planning to throw all the interest to the central character, 
but to so plan the plot and its development that the mechanism 
by which you influence is not apparent. The best story -does 
not say "Look at Miss Blank. Isn't she lovely? Isn't she charm- 
ing? Isn't it pathetic that she must give up Joe and marry the 
rich old miser to save him from bankruptcy? See how we make 
you think that there is no other way, and now look how we have 
Joe's rich old aunt die and leave him all her money !" That is not 
technique; it is mechanics. Technique makes this same appeal 
but does not let you realize that the appeal has been made. 

Perhaps it really was the acting. Perhaps the personal charm 
and skill of the players was superior to the labored development 
of the plot. Here too you may learn, for you can see how the 
clumsy use of incident defeats its ends. It is as important to 
known what makes a bad story bad as what makes a good story 
good. 

If it was the story that interested you more than the acting, 
see what there was to that story that made it better than the 
playing. Take it detail by detail, incident by incident. Set each 
apart by itself and see what it is like, then put it together again 



HOW TO STUDY 147 

and see what there was in the construction that caused these 
separate incidents to form a complete and pleasing whole. 

If it was the production that pleased, see how much the author 
apparently contributed to that production. The production was 
made by the director, but it was made from an author's script. 
Try and figure out how much the author brought the producer. 

And while you are studying plays on the screen, study also 
the stories of the films you do not see. You cannot witness all 
of the produced plays. Get what you cannot see on the screen 
from the Moving Picture World. This will not only give you 
the stories to study, but in a general way you will gain an idea 
of what each company wants from what it is doing, and later 
on the knowledge of what has been done will aid you in avoiding 
the theme already used. 

Having become familiar with the screened story and with the 
terms and forms, you are ready for the next step. Select some 
theater where two or more performances are given each evening 
and sit through the bill twice. The first time note the story. The 
second time decide which of the plays has made the strongest im- 
pression on you and note all the scenes of this play. Just a 
word or two will enable you to recall the scene. Put down no 
more than is necessary. 

Now, at home, try to write that play, partly from memory but 
with the notes to assist you. Make the full plot of the action 
precisely as though it was an original story you intended to write 
and submit to some studio. Write in the action precisely as 
though you were writing the business of a new play. Put in the 
leaders and the letters just as clearly as you can remember them. 
Now write the synopsis and cast of characters. You have a 
complete script from which you may make a careful analysis of 
the development. 

Recall as clearly as possible the points that made the deepest 
impression on you when you first saw it. Think of how this 
scene thrilled you with fear, of how that one brought a smile 
to your face and that other put a lump in your throat. The 
reason for all these emotions is down on that paper in black and 
white if you have done your work well. The secret of the sob 
is clear, the reason for the smile is made plain. You have a clear 
insight into the mechanics of creating emotion. 

But there is one thing that may not appear as clearly on the 
paper. You do not clearly see the punch, the reason why you 
liked that play so much better than the others you saw at the 
same time. You should find the visible punch if you will look 
for it, but you will, in time, find something else. What that is no 



148 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

one can tell you. You cannot tell yourself what it is. It has 
never 'been put into words and it never will be, but if you are ever 
going to make a story writer you will find that something in this 
study of the story that enables you to write plays. 

It cannot be analyzed and it cannot be described, but it is an 
ability to sense the story; to look past the action, past the tech- 
nique, past the plot and past the punch itself and see the 
soul of the story. To some people it is never given to gain this 
sense, to some it comes only after long, arduous labor. Some 
are born with it, some have it partly developed and need but a 
little work to bring it out, but no matter how it comes, that 
instinctive sensing of the story is what makes the real author ; is 
what marks the difference between the playwriter and the person 
who merely performs the mechanical labor of writing a play. 

But perhaps even before this comes to you you will be ready 
to go on to the next step. Instead of merely studying the work 
of others, study to improve their work. You have the script 
before you. Mentally redevelop it. See if you cannot better the 
situations by changing the relation of the scenes or by discarding 
certain of the scenes and using others in their place. There never 
was a story produced that could not be improved upon. Study 
to see how you may improve the work on the plays you have seen, 
for this will bring a keener insight into the development of the 
plot than the mere study of the plotting of another. 

Study, too, to improve the leaders. Improving does not neces- 
sarily mean the cutting down the number of words. You may 
add a couple of words and get an easy, fluent leader instead of a 
harsh, disjointed one. Do the same with the letters. See if you 
cannot make them sound more like real letters. Note where a 
paragraph from a letter might have been used with better effect 
than one purporting to be an entire letter. See when the opening 
or closing paragraph would be better than one from the body of 
the sheet. 

And all this time, it is to be supposed, you are working on 
your own plots. Work them into rough photoplay form. Write 
and rewrite them unless you find that the story grows worse with 
each revision. Writers may be roughly assembled into two 
classes ; those who work best on the first draft and those who do 
better on revise. Do not mistake laziness for an inability to 
revise, but on the other hand, do not work too long on a story 
if you find you do not improve it. Lay it aside and take it up 
again weeks or even months later. 

Now you are ready to do more original work and less copy. 
You have learned not only the form but the application of form 
to idea from your work on the plays of others. Now apply 



HOW TO STUDY 149 

form to your own ideas with the intention of selling your product. 
In their proper chapters the various processes of plot formation 
and development are described in detail. Work along those 
lines unless you chance upon a method that suits you better. 

Do not trust too much to the criticism of your friends. They 
mean well, but they may not know, and the possession of college 
degrees is no evidence of ability to criticize photoplay. One of 
the worst scripts that ever came under the observation of this 
writer was the work of a professor of English literature in one 
of the largest colleges of the country. His knowledge of litera- 
ture was profound, his English was classical in its purity, but he 
did not know photoplay. The minister, the teacher, the news- 
paper man and the lawyer may each be learned in his profession 
and yet their opinion of your manuscript be infinitely less worth 
while than the judgment of the grammar school boy who is an 
ardent "fan." 

If you have made proper advance you are now able to visualize 
your action, to turn the printed word into motion, but you have 
this one drawback. You know the story you have written, and 
you cannot be certain that you have put all of the story into the 
plot of action. You may read it a dozen times and each time 
supply some missing point from your memory of the story and 
think it is in the script. You know that John does this because 
of some other action. You do not realize that the explanatory 
action is missing. Get someone to go over it for you. Encourage 
them to ask questions and do not grow angry if they do. 

Write as much as you can, but do not try to market all you 
write. Send out only the best, retaining the rest to work over. If 
you cannot better a story by editing and revision, lay it aside 
until you have done at least two others and the incidents of the 
first are less clear in your mind. Now read your synopsis and 
mentally plot it afresh, writing the new action without reference 
to the old. Now compare the two. You are apt to find some 
improvement. If you keep at it long enough you will get the 
story right in time. 

As you study and learn from your failures you will come 
to find that sometimes the story may be all right but the handling 
is wrong. At times you will find that to give the most important 
position to the woman instead of the man or vice versa, will be 
to give the story the right twist. Again you may find that your 
hero is a doctor instead of a lawyer, or perhaps a clerk instead 
of his employer. One story was rejected eight times but sold 
the ninth because on the last trip the hero was an insurance agent 
instead of a theatrical manager. The theatrical manager did not 
fit into the rest of the story. The insurance agent did. 



ISO TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

Never throw away an idea. Even if you are told that the theme 
has been used before, do not discard the story. There may be 
something good in the arrangement or business that you can use 
with another theme. 

There is just one secret of success and that is work, hard 
faithful work intelligently directed. Every man who today en- 
joys success has at one time stood where you are standing now. 
Every Editor, every photoplay wright has at one time been a 
novice, has met the trails and disappointments of the beginner, 
has overcome the obstacles and fought his way to success through 
work. There is not a man in the business who will not ascribe 
his success to hard work if he is entirely honest. A few of us 
came up from the start of motion pictures and progressed so 
gradually that the amount of effort was not realized, but even 
those who were in the business in the old fifty-foot days and 
who progressed with the business have worked, but have spread 
over ten or fifteen years the work you may accomplish in one 
or two. 

This is one point wherein you may receive no help from an- 
other. No one can do your work for you, no matter how much 
you are willing to pay, and no one can think for you nor teach 
you to think. It is entirely your own effort that will bring you 
success, but your success will be the sweeter because it has been 
hardly won. You may be able to think quickly, to use your 
imagination intelligently and so make more speedy progress than 
another, you may even gain some measure of success for a time 
with no very great amount of labor, but no matter how quick you 
may be to adapt yourself to conditions and produce for a time 
plots that will please, in the end you will find that there is but 
one foundation for a real and lasting success and that is hard 
work. Don't cheat yourself by shirking. If you would be a 
success, be prepared for work and remember that the sooner you 
do the preparatory work that must be done, no matter who you 
may be, the sooner will you gain success. 



THE UNASKED QUESTION * 151 



CHAPTER XXVIII 

THE UNASKED QUESTION 
Things you will want to know explained in detail. 

While much of the information contained in this chapter will 
be found elsewhere in the volume, it is believed that a series of 
direct questions and answers will be found helpful in resolving 
doubts and will be additionally useful in enabling the beginner 
to obtain with the least delay the answer he seeks. The para- 
graphs are based upon those points most generally asked by the 
novice. 

How long does the studio keep a script? 

From a day to several months. Different studios have different 
methods of handling their scripts, and some of these methods in- 
volve a considerable period of delay in handling those scripts 
that are not so very clearly impossible that they are returned im- 
mediately. 

How long should I wait before asking about them? 

It is well to wait at least eight weeks before making inquiry of 
an editor. Some writers wait a full three months. 

Is a delay favorable or unfavorable? 

Generally a delay beyond a couple of weeks means that your 
manuscript is being held for further consideration, having passed 
a first reading. A delay is therefore favorable, if not too long 
continued. 

What should I write in making inquiry? 

Simply ask if they have the script and what the chances of 
action are. A very good plan is to send a letter something like 
this: 

Editor, 

Planet Film Co. 
Dear Sir: 

On May 27th I sent you a drama entitled "The Fate of a Girl." If this 
has not been received by you will you please advise me that I may make in- 
quiry of the postoffice. If it is being held for consideration may I ask when 
there is likely to be some action? 

This should be accompanied by a stamped and self-addressed 
return envelope. 



152 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

What should I do if no reply comes? 

Wait from two to four weeks. Write again, again enclosing a 
stamped and self-addressed envelope. Register the letter and 
state at the time of registering that you desire a receipt. 

Suppose there is still no reply? 

Notify the company that you withdraw the script, using the 
form given in Chapter XXII. 

Suppose that they use the script and do not send a check? 

They may have lost your address, or you may have neglected 
to put it on the script in the first place. Assume this to be the 
case and write the editor, stating the facts. Enclose the usual 
stamped and self-addressed envelope. If no reply is returned, 
write again, addressing the Proprietor or President of the com- 
pany. If this letter is not replied to, consult a lawyer if you 
desire, though his fee will probably eat up the check from the 
company. 

Suppose that my script is returned and the company then makes 
my story? 

Regret that someone else probably wrote the story more at- 
tractively than you did. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred this 
will be the case. 

To whom should the manuscript be addressed? 

To "The Editor of Photoplays," or to "The Manuscript De- 
partment." Scripts should not be addressed to individuals unless 
your personal friendship with that one addressed warrants you in 
doing so. 

What does the rejection slip mean? 

Precisely what it generally says. The company cannot use your 
story for some reason, so it returns it. 

Is it favorable or Unfavorable? 

It is neither or both, as you will. It is a favorable sign if the 
editor adds a word or two of encouragement or suggestion in 
his own handwriting. 

What does "not available 3 ' mean? 

It means that the company cannot use your script. This may 
be because they have others of similar class, because they use 
none of that class, or because they do not like it for any one of 
a thousand possible reasons. 

Should I register my manuscript? 

It is seldom necessary if you use a stout envelope of the proper 
size. It sometimes delays a script to be registered, and the fact 
that it is registered will not impress the editor with its worth. 

Do companies give receipts for manuscripts? 

Seldom, if ever, now. The courtesy was abused. 



THE UNASKED QUESTION 153 

How may I obtain a receipt? 

By registering the script or by enclosing a return postal. 

If the script is lost will the receipt enable me to collect? 

It will not. All scripts are submitted at author's risk. 

What shall I do if a script is mussed or torn? 

Return it to the company, calling attention to its condition. 
They will recopy the script if it is their fault. Damage due to 
poor envelopes will not be repaired, so send the envelope in which 
the script was received. 

Can I have more than 250 words in my synopsis if I need it? 

Yes, but you should not need more. 

In what tense should the synopsis be written? 

In the present tense. Say "Henry is." not "Henry was." 

About how many words are there in a full reel story? 

As few as you need to tell the action clearly. The reel is not 
decided by the length of the manuscript either in words or pages, 
but by the length of action. 

Hoiv may I fudge the action? 

Roughly by the number of seconds it should take to play the 
action. The method of the different directors is so varied that 
there is no certain rule. 

Why should I pay postage both ways when they want scripts? 

They merely advertise their willingness to examine your wares. 
If there is nothing they want it falls to you to reclaim your 
property. 

Why do some companies write me they are not buying certain 
kinds of stories when I see them on the screen? 

Because these stories are purchased from certain authors by 
special arrangement and not in the open market. 

Why are costume plays rejected? 

Because they involve considerable extra expense of production, 
and at the same time do not prove as interesting as modern plays, 
as a rule. 

How can I get the right to make a play from a copyrighted 
book? 

Address the publishers, stating your desire. It seldom pays to 
buy copyright rights on speculation. 

What is the meaning of "similar theme used before?" 

It means that someone else has written a story like yours. It 
does not mean that you are suspected of having used a story by 
someone else. 

Is it necessary to state the number of leaders and the number 
of words in each leader and as a whole? 

Some companies advise this, but it is not really necessary. Most 
scripts will be more or less changed, and your estimate may be 



154 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

useless. It is better to leave leaders and words unnumbered. 

Does a bust count as a scene? 

A bust should be counted as a scene both in numbering the 
scenes and in counting the total. This is because the camera must 
be moved to make the bust, and so a number is needed to identify 
that strip of negative. 

Then why not number the inserts? 

Because the inserts are made by a separate department and do 
not need the identifying number. In the studio they are marked 
according to some system, but this does not concern the author. 

What is the precise difference between an insert and a bust? 

An insert shows little or no action. A bust is the magnification 
of some action. 

Must the passage of time always be marked by a leader? 

Not if the scene or action clearly shows the flight of time, but 
in most cases it is better to write in a time leader, even if you 
think that it will be cut out in the studio. 

How many leaders may be used? 

As many as are necessary to make the action clear. The fewer 
the number of leaders and the shorter the length, other things 
being equal, the more likely the story is to sell, but you are not 
limited to any specific number of leaders. 

How many words can I use in a leader? 

There is no limit save that of common sense. The shorter the 
leader the better, but a twelve-word leader that is clear is to be 
preferred to one of eight words that lacks explicitness. About 
twenty words should be the limit unless you think the story will 
warrant the running of two leaders in succession. This is some- 
times, but not very often, done. 

Is a long leader better in letter form? 

Only when the letter can be introduced as a part of the action. 
Do not have the character suddenly decide to write a letter for 
no other reason than that you want to tell the audience something. 
The use of a letter is permissible only when there is a real neces- 
sity for giving some other character the information the letter 
contains. 

When should newspaper paragraphs be introduced? 

Only when there is a legitimate excuse for having some char- 
acter read or be shown a newspaper. 

Is it necessary to write in all the cut backs? 

Write in a reasonable number of cut backs, as the situation 
may seem to require, but do not write for the extremist who may 
use thirty or forty cuts where the average director would use but 
fifteen or twenty. Be careful to avoid overdoing the cutting back. 



THE UNASKED QUESTION 155 

How fully should the description of a scene setting be written? 

It is seldom necessary to use more than two or three words. 
If you write "Jane's parlor," the director can tell about the sort 
of parlor Jane would have, but if you actually need a piano, add 
"with piano" to call attention to the need. 

Should the time of day be added to a scene? 

Not unless you find it necessary to establish the exact time. It 
is customary to add "tint for night" if the scene takes place in an 
exterior after dark. 

Will a story with the entire outdoor action happening at night 
be accepted? 

Not as a rule. The night scene is nothing more than an under- 
exposed photograph, and an underexposed photograph cannot be 
a good one. 

Shall I send a letter with my script? 

No. The editor knows you have sent it in for sale. 

May two or more scripts be sent at one time? 

Yes, provided that each script is accompanied by its own re- 
turn envelope, as some may be held and the others returned. 

Should I mark a price on my script? 

If you wish to. Most authors find it more profitable to leave 
the price to the editor. 

But suppose that the editor sends me only five or ten dollars? 

Write a courteous note asking if that is the company's regular 
rate. If it is, do not send more scripts there. If it is not, the 
editor will tell you why so little was sent. It is better, however, 
to wait until the second time before querying. 

How may I become a contract writer? 

If it is possible with that studio, you may make a contract after 
you have proven by the number and frequency of the scripts ac- 
cepted that you can deliver the goods contracted for. 

Is it desirable to be a contract writer? 

Not as a rule. At the end of your contract it may not be re- 
newed, and you will find that your work is practically unknown 
to other studios. 

Should I put comedy scenes in a drama? 

It is not recommended. In the stage drama comedy is intro- 
duced that the tension may be lightened, since the play runs two 
or three hours. In the twenty-minute or even three-reel story 
this is not required. 

How long after acceptance should a story be released? 

Generally in from three to six months. Stories have been held 
a year or more for production, and some never are produced. 

How may I tell when it is coming out? 



156 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

By watching the stories of the films. The title may be changed, 
but you will probably be able to recognize your story. 

How may I force a manufacturer to produce my story? 

You cannot. Purchase carries with it no promise of production. 

What can I do if a manufacturer changes my story? 

You have no redress. You have sold a story. It becomes the 
property of the purchaser and he may do with it as he pleases. 
Not infrequently two stories may be combined into one. 

How may I reserve the rights to make a short story or stage 
drama of my play? 

By stating on the manuscript that the fiction or dramatic rights, 
or both, are reserved by the author. Then be careful that, in 
signing the release slips, this same reservation is made. 

Is this advisable? 

It reduces your chances of a sale almost to nothingness. 

Can I make a hero of my villain? 

Technically you cannot, since your leading character is the hero, 
no matter what his personal character may be. You may make a 
criminal your leading character, but this is seldom advisable. It 
is the general rule of all censorships that evil must be punished. 
If the criminal is punished, the story has the undesirable happy 
ending. If he escapes, the censors will object to the story and 
prevent its circulation in whole or part. 

May a script open with a leader? 

It is often done, but it is not recommended. Many theaters 
start with the first picture and the leader is lost. In all cases the 
audience is not yet alert and will not catch the leader. 

Should the author indicate the players he wants in his play? 

This should not be done. The studio will cast the play. To 
mark in the names of the players will make it necessary to recopy 
the script. 

Suppose that I write a story for some particular player? 

This should not be done. It is well, however, if a part seems 
to be particularly suited to some person, to suggest on a separate 
slip that the part should be found suitable to the person named. 

Should my script be typewritten? 

Invariably, no matter how clear your handwriting may be. 

How may I get my scripts copied? 

Even in the small towns there is some lawyer whose clerk will 
take copying. In the larger cities there are public stenographers 
in almost every office building. The magazines devoted to story 
writing will give the names of copyists. 

How much should this cost? 

About forty cents a thousand words, or ten to twenty cents a 
page. 



THE UNASKED QUESTION 157 

Can I send a story to the same studio more than once? 

There is nothing to prevent you. It is best, however, to call 
attention to changes made in the story, and state that these are 
the reasons for sending a second time. 

Do stories ever sell on a second reading? 

Yes, if the changes made better fit it to the uses of the studio 
to which it is submitted. 

How can I tell what each manufacturer wants? 

Study the stories of the films he has released and read the trade 
papers. 

Can I sell my stories to foreign manufacturers? 

Probobly not. There is an ample supply abroad. 

How should I go about it? 

Obtain the studio addresses and send your manuscript in the 
language of the country. Enclose one or more International 
Reply Coupons for the return of the script. These may be had of 
any post office for six cents each, and are good for stamps to the 
value of five cents in any country within the Postal Union. 

'How do the prices compare? 

Ten or fifteen dollars will be paid for the script that would com- 
mand fifty over here. 

Will it help to send a script to a player to whom it should par- 
ticularly appeal instead of to the Editor? 

The players cannot accept scripts nor force their opinions on 
the Editor. 

Suppose that my script calls for some article that I possess and 
the studio is not likely to have. Should it .be sent with the script? 

Simply state that you have such an article and will be pleased 
to loan it on request. Do not send it until you are positively 
asked for it. 

Can I use a title someone else has used? 

You can, but it is a bad practice. 

If the purchaser of my script gives the story another title, may 
I use the one I suggested? 

If you wish. The original purchaser has discarded the title. 

Is there any stated period that must elapse before I send an- 
other story to the studio to which one has been sent? 

There is no limit to the scripts that may be sent to one studio, 
but it is best not to send too many to one place ; perhaps not 
more than two a week. 

Is it necessary to draw diagrams of the stage settings? 

Do not send diagrams of any sort. 



158 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

Should I write the leaders and inserts in red ink? 

Most editors prefer an all-black ribbon. 

Should I single or double space? 

It is best to single space scenes and use a double space between 
scenes, between scenes and leaders, and between parts of scenes 
and an insert. 

Can I have part of the action occur in a foreign' country? 

It can be done without much trouble if the foreign action is 
held to inside scenes, or very simple landscapes, but city streets 
or country houses or villages will not be convincing. 

Do they have to wait until it rains to make pictures in the rain? 

Sometimes a sprinkler system is used. 

Will it help to send post card pictures or photographs that look 
like the scenes I want? 

Nothing of this sort should be sent. The director will do the 
best he can with what is at hand. 

Can I write a series of stories about the same character and 
sell them to different studios if one will not take them all? 

This may be done if the stories are not too much alike, but it 
would be better to change the name of the character. 

Can anyone contribute to a series of stories? 

Anyone can offer stories that will fit a series, but generally 
these series plays are written by one or more authors in close 
touch with the studio. 

Will it help me to take a course in acting for motion pictures? 
It will not be of any assistance. Practically all of these schools 
are frauds. 

Is it better for a woman to use a masculine pen name? 

This is not necessary. Some of the best paid and most prolific 
writers are women. There is no preference shown. 

Is it best to let an agent handle my manuscripts? 

It is better that you sell your scripts direct. In many studios 
there is a prejudice against the agent, and in none is the agent 
favored. 

Will it pay to hire someone to revise my scripts? 

It will not pay. Revision may put your idea into better tech- 
nical form, but it will not better the idea, and it is the idea that 
is the principal factor in a sale. 

//, after I have sent out a script, I think of a better way of 
ending the story, should I write and tell the editor? 

No. If the script sells, you will not need to change . If it is 
returned, you can make the change after it comes back. 

Should I send a letter and a script in the same envelope? 

That depends on the nature of the letter. If you have to write 



THE UNASKED QUESTION 159 

a letter about the script you are sending, place it in the envelope 
with the script. If you are writing the editor on another mat- 
ter, use another envelope. It may be a week before your script en- 
velope is opened. A script and a letter relating thereto should 
never be sent under separate covers. 

What sort of scripts sell best? 

There is a demand for all sorts. Comedy of ihe right sort 
commands the most steady market, with a real heart-interest 
story next, and then melodrama. The market varies from time 
to time, but this is the general rule. 

When should dialogue be used? 

When a single speech will convey more than an equal number 
of words of action. 

// two or more consecutive scenes are played in the same set, 
should each scene be numbered? 

Each scene must be numbered in its proper order. Two or 
more scenes in succession in the same set will be broken by 
leaders, and so each scene must have a number by which it may 
be identified. 

Can I show parts of two rooms at the same time? 

This can be done, but it should be remembered that in such a 
case each room will have only half of the stage width and that 
the action must all happen close to the walls. It would be better 
to use the cut back from one room to the other. 

If I want a trick scene is it sufficient to tell what I want, or 
must I explain how it can be done? 

Ask for what you want and leave it to the director and the 
cameraman, but remember that it is not a good plan to use much 
trick work, since this means considerable trouble. Be certain 
that the result will warrant the trouble. 

Why should I cut a long scene into two through the use of 
some other scene? 

Because the spectator grows tired of action too long con- 
tinued in one spot, even when the action itself is interesting. 

Must I supply pen copies of the letters used in my play? 

No. Put the text of the letter into the script at the proper 
place. The letter will be written ir the studio with india ink 
and on the proper sort of paper. 

How many times may a script be sent out? 

As many times as there are companies likely to be able to use 
it, but after three or four submissions the repeated return should 
suggest to you that the script is not right and needs revision. 

What does first run script mean? 

First run script means that you send all of your stones to one 



160 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

particular studio in accordance with an arrangement already 
made with them whereby you are given a little better price than 
usual because they are given first choice. 

How may I make my scripts first run? 

By sending in such good stories that a studio .will be anxious 
to get first pick of your product. Generally a year or more is 
required to accomplish this result. 

Can I put my story out on royalty? 

This is very occasionally done in the case of state rights fea- 
tures, but practically never in the case of regular releases. 

Why cannot this be done? 

It would involve too much bookkeeping and to some extent re- 
veal the volume of the manufacturer's business to outsiders. 

Can I locate my story in a machine shop, a mill or other similar 
place? 

This may be done, but it is best not to be too specific. Do not 
ask for a knitting mill when a box factory will do as well, be- 
cause it may be possible to get a well-lighted box factory, where 
to use a knitting mill would involve considerable expense in the 
transportation of the special lights used in picture making and 
setting these up. 

// a character assumes an alias, should this alias be employed 
to show that he is disguised? 

Make it plain in the action that he is disguised, but keep on 
calling him by the name first used. If your hero is John Jones, 
do not call him John or Jones indiscriminately. Call him either 
John or Jones and stick to that selection throughout. 

What does it mean ivhen I receive a script without even a re- 
jection slip? 

It either means that they are out of slips at the moment or 
else that they forget to put one in. 

If I have more than one good title for a play should I send the 
others? 

You may, but it is the better plan to use only one title and 
write other plays to fit the other titles. Often a title will give 
you the idea for a play entirely different from the one to which 
it was first applied. 

What is a director's sheet? 

It is a list of scenes with a word or two describing the action 
in each. It is a term seemingly invented by a man writing about 
an unfamiliar subject. Where such a memorandum of the action 
is employed, it is written by the director for his convenience, and 
not by the author. 

Why cannot I sell all thai I write? 

Because no author invariably writes a good story. 



TECHNICAL TERMS 161 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

TECHNICAL TERMS 

Terminology of the studio — definitions of the phrases of the 
studio and new meanings given words in common use. 

While most of the terms used in this book are explained and 
illustrated at the time of their first use, a glossary may be found 
useful at times. Various studios have their own terms, invented 
in default of an established terminology. In some studios, for 
instance, a photograph made with an ordinary camera for the use 
of the press department is called a "still" meaning that it is 
made without action. In other studios it is called a "flat" and in 
some few a "regular," but the use of the terms given below is 
understandable to all studios and are the ones in most general use : 

Action — (a) Any gesture performed by the player, (b) The 
various actions of individual players whereby the narrative 
is advanced. 

, plot of — All the action of a play properly divided into 

scenes and with leaders and inserts written in. 

Business — The action of the player. ("Business of untying rope" 
— the action of untying the rope.) 

Break — Interrupting the scene to prevent long action or showing 
forbidden matter. 

Bust — A small section of a scene magnified by bringing the 
camera closer to the object photographed. 

By-play — Minor action of the players not essential to the relation 
of the story. Business generally refers to the essential action, 
and by-play to the non-essential. 

Cast — A list of the characters employed in a play. 

Climax — The ultimate end of the action, the most impressive 
moment of the play. The point at which all the narrative 
has been directed. An anti-climax is a previous action of 
greater strength that the incident which ends the play and 
so robs the true climax of its impressiveness. 

Close-u\p — Same as Bust or close action. 

Comedy — A play in which the element of humor is dominant — an 
amusing play lacking serious purpose or story. 

Crisis — A critical moment in the development of the narrative 
but not as important as the climax. If of equal or greater 
importance, the crisis becomes an anti-climax. 



162 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

Cutting — (a) Eliminating useless portions of the film : editing. 
(b) Dividing a scene for the purpose of inserting leader or 
other matter. 

room* — A room supplied with projection machine and 

screen where the prints are run through and the matter to 
be eliminated is decided upon. 

Cut-back — Repeated returns to a scene or character after inter- 
polated scenes of related action. 

Denouement — The climax of a play; the end at which the action 
has been directed. The natural consequence of the preced- 
ing action. 

Development — of plot — The elaboration of the start or leading 
action into a complete series of incidents. 

of film — The immersing of the film in a solution which 

brings out the picture, through the action of chemicals on 
the silver in the emulsion. 

Director — One who produces photoplays, directing the prepara- 
tion and action. 

Dissolve — The gradual introduction or withdrawal of a character 
from a scene by means of double exposure and stopping 
down. 

Double — exposure. The exposure of the same negative film 
twice. 

printing — Exposing the same piece of film behind two 

negatives in succession, impressing a double figure on the 
sensitive emulsion. 

Drama — In general any form of stage play. In photoplay the 
word is applied only to serious plays. 

Editor — A person employed to select plays and prepare them for 
production. 

Educational — A film possessing an educational as well as enter- 
taining value as pictures of industries, foreign people, etc. 

Exterior — A scene in which the action is laid outdoors. 

Fade — Dissolving the end of one scene into the commencement 
of the next by means of double exposure and opening or 
closing the diaphragm. 

Farce — The broadest form of comedy; a comedy in which abso- 
lute probability is subordinate to the creation of comedy 
action and situations. 

comedy — A play not so broad as farce, yet livelier than 

high comedy. 

Flash— A few feet only of a scene or insert; a fleeting glimpse. 

Flat — A piece of scenery stretched upon a framework of wood. 

Frame — Each single picture on a film. 






TECHNICAL TERMS 163 

Insert — Any matter, not leader, inserted in the film, as reproduc- 
tions of letters or newspapers, small objects, etc. 

Interior — A scene played within a house or other structure. 

Joining — cementing together the various parts of a film. 

room — A department where the several scenes are as- 
sembled or cemented together into a complete reel. 

Lead — A character most prominent in a play, generally a man and 
a woman. 

Leader — A printed legend conveying some explanation not possi- 
ble to give in action. 

cut in — A leader cut into or inserted between two parts 

of a scene instead of placed between scenes. 

Lines — Real or imaginary lines defining the angle of the lens and 
therefore all that part of the stage in the field of the camera. 

Location — Any exterior in which a scene is played. 

Magazine — Light-tight boxes used for holding film in the camera. 
Fireproof boxes used for holding film in the projection ma- 
chine. 

Make-up — The various materials with which the players change 
their appearance. 

Manuscript — The written play, consisting of a synopsis, cast and 
plot of action with leaders and inserts. 

Mask — Metal cut-outs used for shielding parts of the film from 
exposure or giving certain shapes to the picture. 

Master plot — The last reduction of a plot of a story. The base 
from which many variations may spring. 

Match — Planning the action at the end of one scene to correspond 
to that in the opening of the next, as a person passing from 
one room to another. 

Mss. — The abbreviation for manuscript. 

Multiple reel — A story requiring more than one reel for its com- 
plete action. 

Negative — The film which has been exposed in the camera and 
then developed, giving white as black and the reverse. 

Opposite — The player with whom a character has most to do. The 
heroine plays opposite the hero, the juvenile opposite the 
ingenue, etc. 

Panoram — A contraction of panorama or panoramic. Moving the 
camera up and down or from side to side to follow the ac- 
tion across the lines. 

Photographic stage — A small section of the full stage nearest to 
the camera on which all important action should be played. 
A space about six by four feet. 

Plot — The skeleton of a story. The motive. 

of action. The action divided into scenes. 



16! TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

Plot — property — A list of all objects required in producing a 
certain play. 

, scene — A list of all scenes and locations required in the 

production of a certain play. 

Positive — A film exposed behind a negative and then developed, 
rendering the proper values in white and black. 

Printing — Passing positive and negative film together through a 
machine which exposes the positive film through the nega- 
tive. 

Producer — One who produces pictures. See Director. 

Properties — Ail articles required for use in a play. 

Punch — That quality of the plot that forcefully impresses the 
spectator. The mental suggestion that renders physical ac- 
tion impressive. 

Reconstruction — The revision of a manuscript to suit the particu- 
lar purposes of the studio making the production. 

Reel — (a) One or more subjects aggregating approximately one 
thousand feet, (b) The spool on which film is wound. 

Release — One or more subjects, a full reel, issued by a manu- 
facturer as a complete offering. 

day — Stated days on which manufacturers release or pub- 
lish their products (Monday, Thursday and Saturday are 
the Biograph release days. Imp makes three releases each 
week.) 

Retake — Making over a scene because of some defect in the first. 

Scenario — Once erroneously applied to the photoplay script. A 
condensed sketch of the action of a play. 

Scene — (a) All of the action of a play that is taken in one spot 
at one time without stopping of the camera, (b) A complete 
stage setting. 

Script — Same as manuscript. 

Set — A combination of parts of scenery presenting the aspect of 
an interior or exterior. 

Splice — To join two pieces of film by cementing them together. 

Split reel — A thousand feet of film, containing two or more sub- 
jects. 

Still — A photograph made with a regular camera for the use of 
the advertising department. 

Studio — A place where pictures are made. A daylight studio has 
a glass roof and sides. An electric studio is one where pic- 
tures are made by artificial light. 
Sub-title — Same as Leader. 
Switch-back — Same as Cut-back. 



COMPLETE ACTION 165 

Synopsis — A brief resume of the story or its salient points, en- 
abling the Editor to get an idea of the story without reading 
the entire script. 

Title — The name or caption given a play. 

Tinting — Dyeing the film in various colors to suggest moonlight, 
lamplight, firelight, etc. 

Trick — Any effect not gained through straight photography. 

Turning — Operating the crank of the camera and causing the 
mechanism to pass film through the box behind the lense. 

Vision — A small scene shown as part of a full frame, the re 
mainder being given to the main action. 



CHAPTER XXX. 



COMPLETE ACTION 

Two sample scripts showing the action developed to the 
highest reasonable point — the extreme of fullness. 

Throughout this book the examples show a development that is 
recommended as being sufficiently full to give a producer all the 
needful information, but for the purpose of comparison we pre- 
sent in this chapter two studio scripts, one a drama, the other 
a light comedy, written by Lawrence S. McCloskey, Editor for 
the Lubin Manufacturing Company and produced by that com- 
pany. This form should be followed where an Editor or pro- 
ducer particularly requests a "full script." 



FRIEND JOHN. 

By Lawrence S. McCloskey. 

Synopsis. 

Time—Present. 

Place — Quaker Village in Pennsylvania. 

John Franklin, a stolid Quaker, devotes his simple life 
to the Lord and horses—worshipping the former, shoeing the 
latter. His sister, Priscella, is housekeeper. In the depths 
John's big, simple heart, love is growing for Ruth, daughter 



166 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

of the Rogers--staunch Quakers all. Howard Clark, an idle, 
rich young man, while autoing through the village, sees the 
pretty and demure young Quakeress, and resolves to see more of 
her. He makes it his business to become acquainted, and when 
she chides him for his reckless, sinful way, he tells her that 
he would reform if she would help him. The girl is seized 
with the idea that the Lord has sent this man to her to be 
saved and she resolves to perform her mission. In the course 
of their talks she falls in love with the reckless, young 
fellow, and when he asks her to elope with him she does so, 
partly because she loves him, but more because she thinks it 
her duty to save his soul. The elopement causes grief to the 
old folks. John's big heart is torn, but his grief is silent. 
Clark marries Ruth, and they live happily for a while at his 
home in the city. But, although Clark loves his little wife, 
he goes back to his old ways, and because Ruth clings to her 
old-fashioned ways and does not make free with his pleasure- 
loving friends he becomes ashamed of her and neglects her. 
Even his discovery of baby clothes, which Ruth is sewing, fails 
to soften him. At last, lonely and miserable, Ruth, seeking 
love and sympathy, returns to her home. There her father's 
harsh words anger her, and, although he does not refuse her 
admittance, she is too proud to accept his charity. From his 
blacksmith shop John sees Ruth staggering in the road. He 
takes her into his house, where she sobs out her story to John 
and his sister. In righteous wrath John hastens to the city. 
He finds Ruth's husband in the midst of midnight revelry. In 
front of all the guests John drags Clark from the house and 
forces him to return to the village. When they arrive they 
find that the stork has gotten there ahead of them. Ruth has 
a baby. The little mite awakens in Ruth's husband all the 
manhood that has been slumbering, and when the happy family 
later return to their city home Friend John at his forge is 
comforted in knowing that Ruth is happy. 

CAST. 

JOHN FRANKLIN (Blacksmith) 

PRISCILLA (John's sister) 

RUTH-- 

RUTH'S FATHER - 

RUTH'S MOTHER--- 

HOWARD CLARK 

Chauffeur 

Butler 

Number of Quakers. 

Guests of Clark. 



COMPLETE ACTION 167 

FRIEND JOHN. 
Scene Plot. 

INTERIORS. 

Blacksmith Shop (studio set)- 6 

Kitchen in John's Home- 8-32-39 

Bedroom in John's Home- 37-40 

Parlor in Ruth's Home- 15 

Dining Room in Ruth's Home- 17-18 

Living Room- Howard's Apartments- 21-23-25-27-34-36 

Bedroom- Howard's Apartments- 24-26 

Hallway- Howard's Apartments (small set- camera close up) 
33-35 

EXTERIORS. 

Friends' Meeting House- 1 

Road Scenes- 2-3-4-9-11-29-31 

Crossroads- 12-16-19 

Ruth's Home (Small Farm)- 5-13-28-41 

Blacksmith Shop- 7-10-20-22-30-38-42 

FRIEND JOHN. 

By Lawrence S. McCloskey. 

Leader- JOHN FRANKLIN AND HIS SISTER PRISCELLA. 

Scene 1- EXTERIOR FRIENDS' MEETING HOUSE. 

Quakers coming out of meeting house- John and sister in 
foreground- Ruth, Ruth's father and Ruth's mother on from 
rear- sober greetings (a Quaker never tips his hat)- 
John steals sly glances at Ruth- she looks at him- drops 
her eyes demurely- Ruth and family off- John steals 
another glance after Ruth- his sister smiles knowingly- 
then remembers it ill behooves a man to think of a maid 
on the Sabbath- she pulls his sleeve- he starts guiltily- 
they walk off in opposite direction from Ruth. 

Scene 2- ROAD. 

Ruth, father and mother walking towards camera- Howard 
and party of young men approach in auto- waving hats and 

inging- blow horn- Ruth and family hastily step aside 
|o allow auto to pass- as it passes Howard leans over 
side and gets good look at Ruth- father and mother raise 

ands in horror at young man's desecration of Sabbath 

ay. 




168 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

Scene 3- ROAD. 

(Flash) Camera close up- show Howard looking back at Ruth 
over side of speeding auto- he registers "She's a peach- 
I'll come back and look her up"- other fellows not 
paying any attention to Howard. 

Scene 4- Back to No. 2 (ROAD) 

Ruth annoyed at auto party- father and mother shake heads 
in solemn disapproval- all walk off. 

Leader- LATER. 

Scene 5- EXTERIOR RUTH'S HOME (Small farm) 

Horse and small open wagon standing in road- Ruth climb- 
ing into wagon- father examining horse's hoofs- tells 
Ruth to have horse shod- mother on from house with 
basket of eggs- hands them to Ruth- Ruth drives off. 

Scene 6- INTERIOR BLACKSMITH SHOP (Set in studio- dim light) 
John at anvil hammering red-hot horseshoe 7 helper 
pumping bellows flames throw high lights on John's face- 
John hears team drive up outside shop- sees Ruth- smiles 
and exits to meet her. 

Scene 7- EXTERIOR BLACKSMITH SHOP (John's house or gate to 
yard at side)- Sign, John Franklin, Blacksmith. 
Ruth drives up and gets out of wagon- John on from shop- 
greets Ruth- clumsy attempt to make love- she laughs at 
him- he attempts to take her hand, at which she tells 
him horse is to be shod- John's sister on from road- just 
home from market (basket on arm)- Ruth takes her eggs 
from wagon- says they are a present from mother- sister 
invites her into house- both go through gate- sister 
smiling at Ruth and John- John disappointed at interrup- 
tion, but calls helper from shop- they commence to 
unhitch horse. 

Scene 8- KITCHEN IN JOHN'S HOME. 

John's sister and Ruth on- begin to unpack baskets- 
conversation- sister looks at Ruth- then out at John- 
tells Ruth John loves her- Ruth confused. 

Leader- CLARK RETURNS TO LOOK FOR THE PRETTY QUAKERESS. 

Scene 9- ROAD. 

(Flash) Howard in auto (driven by chauffeur) looking 
right and left. 

Scene 10- EXTERIOR BLACKSMITH SHOP. 

Ruth in wagon ready to drive away- John inspecting new 
shoes he has just put on horse's feet- sister saying 
goodbye to Ruth- Ruth says goodby to John and drives 
off- John looks after her wistfully- sister accuses him 
of loving Ruth- he admits it bashfully. 



COMPLETE ACTION 169 

Scene 11- ROAD. 

Howard in auto spies Ruth in distance- orders chauffeur 
to drive on- auto off. 

Scene 12- CROSSROADS. 

Ruth on in wagon, suddenly pulls horse up- Howard's auto 
on, stops abruptly so as to block middle of road (but 
leave room for wagon to pass at edge of road). 

Cut in- HE PRETENDS A BREAKDOWN. 

Chauffeur gets out and under car- reports something out 
of order- Howard appears to be annoyed (but winks at 
chauffeur)- gets out of auto- comes to Ruth and apolo- 
gizes for holding her up- she supposes he cannot help it- 
he attempts familiarity- she reproves him severely. 

Cut in- "THY WAYS ARE SINFUL AND THEE HAD BETTER REFORM." 

Howard pretends to take her words to heart, but he soon 
has her blushing at his compliments. 

Scene 13- EXTERIOR RUTH'S HOME. 

(Flash) Father looking down road- sees Ruth talking to 
stranger- decides to investigate- off towards them. 

Scene 14- Back to No. 12 (ROAD). 

Howard talking to Ruth- Ruth's father on- Ruth intro- 
duces Howard- explains about auto. 

Cut in- THE HOSPITABLE QUAKER INVITES THE STRANGER TO HIS HOME 
UNTIL THE AUTO IS REPAIRED. 

Ruth's father invites Howard to house- leads horse 
around auto while Howard talks to chauffeur, who is 
tinkering at auto- Howard tells him to be a long while 

f fc repairing the car- they exchange winks- Howard hurries 
P off after Ruth and father, 
der- "THE LORD HAS SENT THEE TO ME THAT I MAY INSTRUCT THEE 
IN HIS WAYS." 



,, 



15- PARLOR IN RUTH'S HOME (glimpse of dining room through 
door- mother setting table). 

Ruth and Howard side by side- she has open Bible- says 
above (subtitle)- begins to read passage from Bible- 
Howard not much impressed with words from Bible, but is 
admiring Ruth- mother looks in from other room- hears 
Ruth reading- smiles approvingly and withdraws. 

Scene 16- CROSSROADS (Night). 

(Flash) Chauffeur walking up and down beside auto- wait- 
ing impatiently for Howard- looks at watch, etc.- goes 
towards house. 



170 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

Scene 17- DINING ROOM, RUTH'S HOME. 

Mother has supper ready- father on, farmwork finished- 
asks for Ruth- mother indicates parlor- father frowns, 
but approves when mother tells him Ruth is reading Bible 
to Howard- mother calls into; parlor that supper is ready- 
Ruth and Howard on- knock at door- father off- on again 
with chauffeur, who tells Howard auto is ready- he is 
invited to sit at table- all sit to supper. 

Leader- LATER- RUTH HAS FALLEN IN LOVE WITH HER PUPIL. 

Scene 19* DINING ROOM IN RUTH'S HOME, 9 P. M. 

Mother and father going to bed- Ruth sewing- they ask if 
she isn't going to bed- she says after she finishes her 
sewing- they go off to bed- Ruth takes note from dress. 

Insert- NOTE- 

"Dear Ruth: 

"Marry me and I will be a good man. If you refuse 
I will go to the devil and you will be responsible. I 
will be at the crossroads at nine o'clock. 

"HOWARD CLARK." 

Ruth struggles with her conscience- her love for John, 
etc.- she decides that her duty lies in saving Howard's 
soul- her face lights up- gets paper and pencil (or pen 
and ink)- writes note. 

Insert- NOTE- 

"Father and Mother: 

"I am going to save a man's soul. We shall be 
married immediately, and when he has accepted our faith 
we will come to see thee. RUTH." .• 

Ruth leaves note on table- gets wraps and leaves. 

Scene 19- CROSSROADS- (Night) 

(Short Scene) Howard waiting impatiently beside auto- 
sees Ruth coming- Ruth on- he attempts embrace- she 
reminds him they are not yet married- both get into auto- 
chauffeur drives auto off. 

Leader- NEXT MORNING. 

Scene 20- EXTERIOR BLACKSMITH'S SHOP. 

Very early in the morning- John comes on from gate of his 
house- begins to open up his shop- Ruth's father drives 
on in wagon very much excited- gets out of wagon- tells 
John of elopement, etc.- shows him note. 

Insert- NOTE- Same as in scene 18. 

John staggered- heartbroken, etc.- father terribly 
angry- denounces Ruth- John restrains him. 

[ 



COMPLETE ACTION 171 



Leader- MARRIED. 



Scene 21- LIVING ROOM- Howard's Apartments- door to bedroom 
down right or left- Howard showing Ruth around- she 
somewhat aghast at richness of things- she says so much 
luxury is sinful, and he'll have to do away with some 
of the pictures, etc.- he takes her in his arms and says 
they'll talk about that later. 

Scene 22- INTERIOR BLACKSMITH SHOP. 

(Flash) John at his anvil- hammering horseshoe- stops and 
looks off- grief on his face. 

Leader- THE REFORMATION A FAILURE. 

Scene 23- HOWARD'S APARTMENTS. 

Gay crowd of men and women present- drinking, singing, 
etc.- Howard down front having a good time. 

Scene 24- BEDROOM IN HOWARD'S APARTMENTS- Clock at 11. 

(Flash) Ruth discovered asleep in chair, simple loose 
gown, lonesome and miserable- hears raucous singing of 
Howard's guests- awakens her- puts hands to ears- decides 
to call Howard- exits. 

Scene 25- Back to 23. 

Howard near door- guests still singing- Ruth on from 
bedroom door- very timid- tugs Howard's sleeve- he an- 
noyed- she asks him to come into bedroom- he annoyed, but 
exits with her- guests nudge each other and titter. 

Scene 26- Back to 24 (BEDROOM). 

Ruth and Howard on- she chides him timidly about sinful 
festivities- asks him to dismiss guests- (points to 
lock)- he answers impatiently- she picks up baby gar- 
lent and shows it to him- it makes no impression- 
Foward exits- Ruth cries. 

Leader- "IF YOU DON'T LIKE MY WAYS, GO LIVE YOUR OWN." 




ia der- " 

■ • 



Scene 27- LIVING ROOM, HOWARD'S APARTMENTS. 

Butler helping Howard on with overcoat- butler off- 
Howard dressed for street- Ruth begging him to stay home- 
he says (above subtitle)- hurries out without kissing 

; Ruth- she brokenhearted- goes into bedroom- on again 

gv dressed for street- she steals out. 

Scene 28- EXTERIOR RUTH'S HOME. 

Ruth on, slowly- mother comes out of house, broom in her 
hand- about to sweep porch when she sees Ruth- rushes 
to her- helps her toward house- father appears around 
side of house- orders Ruth to leave- mother and Ruth 



172 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

plead, but in vain- father says something at which Ruth 
takes offence- she walks off proudly. 

Scene 29- ROAD (VICINITY JOHN'S SHOP). 
Ruth walks slowly- staggers. 

Scene 30- INTERIOR BLACKSMITH SHOP. 

John at work- looks out door- sees Ruth- exits. 

Scene 31- Back to 29. 

Rmth about to sink, exhausted- John on- supports her off 
scene. 

Scene 32- INTERIOR JOHN' HOME. 

John's sister ironing- John brings Ruth in- she sobs out 
her story- John asks where her husband lives- she tells- 
sister helps her off scene- Jehn gets hat and coat- 
determines to find Ruth's husband- registers wrath- 
exits. 

Leader- JOHN ARRIVES IN TOWN. 

Scene 33- HALLWAY IN HOWARD'S APARTMENTS- (Camera close up to 
avoid big set) John wants to see Howard- servant tells 
him to wait until he asks Howard- servant off- John 
impatient. 

Scene 34- LIVING ROOM, HOWARD'S APARTMENTS. 

Another party on- Howard down front- half soused- servant 
on- tells him a Quaker wants to see him- Howard doesn't 
want to see any Quaker- servant off. 

Scene 35- Back to 33 (HALLWAY). ^^ 

Servant on- tells John Howard won't see him- John angry- 
starts to go in- servant interposes- John flings him 
aside and exits. 

Scene 36- (Back to 34) LIVING ROOM. 

John enters- guests stand still, etc.- John comes to 
Howard- proceeds to lecture him- guests begin to laugh- 
Howard orders John out- John looks Howard square in 
the eye and says: 

Cut in- "I AM GOING TO TAKE THEE TO THY WIFE!" 

John grabs Howard- other men going to interfere- servant 
draws revolver- John leaps on him and takes it away from 
him- holds them all up and forces Howard to exit with 
him. 

Scene 37- BEDROOM IN JOHN'S HOME. 

Ruth in bed- Quaker doctor in attendance- John's sister 
bustling about at doctor's orders. 



JM 



COMPLETE ACTION 173 

sne 38- EXTERIOR OF JOHN'S HOME AND SHOP. 
^Rjctor's carriage standing- auto on- John pointing gun 
BSPlternately at Howard and chauffeur- John and Howard out 
'and exit towards house. 

Scene 39- KITCHEN, JOHN'S HOME. 

John brings Howard in- Howard recovering from souse- 
bewildered- John's sister on- all excited- stops sur- 
prised at sight of Howard and John- tells them Ruth has a 
baby- Howard gets new look on face- exits towards bed- 
room-sister follows him- John remains- wistful look on 
face, etc. 

Scene 40- BEDROOM IN JOHN'S HOME. 

Ruth and baby in bed- doctor ready to leave- Howard on- 
John's sister after him- stops in background- Howard 
pulls transformation scene- kneels at bed, cries, etc- 
asks Ruth's forgiveness- she gives it- doctor and sister 
exit quietly. 

Leader- LATER. 

Scene 41- EXTERIOR RUTH'S HOME. 

Howard and Ruth with baby in auto, bidding goodby to 
Ruth's father and mother- drive off and old folks gaze 
after them. 

Scene 42- EXTERIOR BLACKSMITH SHOP. 

Wk Auto on and stops- John on from shop- sister on from 
* house- goodbyes- auto drives off- sister goes back to 
^gate- looking after auto- John gazing wistfully after 
Hkuto- sighs- fade out. 



AUNTIE'S AFFINITY. 

^Lang-Walters comedy By Lawrence S. McCloskey. 

Synopsis. 

Ethel and her Aunt Amanda live at the Hotel Borden. Ethel 
in love with Harry, son of the hotel's proprietor. Aunt 
Amanda forbids Ethel to ride in Harry's auto, so one day Ethel 
pleads a headache and Aunt Amanda goes alone for her daily 
walk in the park. Ethel steals off for a spin in Harry's auto. 
PPeitro, the portly and handsome chef of the hotel, also 
oes walking in the park. He dresses well and makes an impres- 
sion on Aunt Amanda when he rescues her pocketbook in the 
park. Each is ignorant of the other's identity. The two meet 
often by appointment. Peitro tells Aunt Amanda that he is 
the Count of Montividio, and she believes him. He buys an 
agement ring, but loses it during excitement in the kitchen, 






174 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

The ring turns up in Ethel's plum pudding. Peitro is exposed 
and discharged. Aunt Amanda is heartbroken. During the ex- 
citement Ethel and Harry elope. 

But it all turns out well when when Peitro shows up with an 
official letter signed by the Italian Consul, certifying that 
Peitro is the really truly Count of Montividio and heir to a 
vast fortune. 9 

CAST. 

PEITRO LANGORI (the Chef) - 

AUNT AMANDA - 

ETHEL --- 

HARRY - 

HARRY'S FATHER - --- 

Guests, Bellboys, Cooks and Waiters. 
Scene Plot 

* INTERIORS. 

Hotel Kitchen-1-6-12-20-22-26-30-32-35. 
Hotel 0ffice-2-4-7-9-19-28-34-36-37-41. 
Hotel Dining Room-3-5-31-33. 
Sitting Room (suite) -8-10-21-27-29-39-42. 

EXTERIORS. 
Front of Hotel-11-13-18-38-40. 
Front of Jewelry Store-25. 
First Park Scene-14. 
Second Park Scene-15. 
Third Park Scene-16-17-23-24. 






AUNTIE'S AFFINITY. 

Lang-Walters comedy By Lawrence S. McCloskey. 

Leader- THE CHEF OF THE HOTEL BORDEN. 

Scene 1- KITCHEN OF THE HOTEL BORDEN- Well appointed, as becomes 
a first-class hotel . 

Peitro, the chef, in his white cap and apron, bossing a I 
number of cooks and scullions- in his hand is a large 
spoon- he tastes soup and other things cooking on the big 
range- some please him- some do not- he orders more salt 
in some of the pots, etc.- makes cooks jump lively, and 
otherwise shows he is "boss around here/" 



COMPLETE ACTION 175 

Leader- THE PROPRIETOR AND HIS SON. 

Scene 2-- OFFICE AND LOBBY OF HOTEL- Quiet but elegant atmos- 
phere- elevator glimpse of dining room. 
■Mrry and his father talking at counter- lady and gentle- 
man on- ask to look at apartments- father takes keys 
Jrom rack- conducts them to elevator- leaves Harry in 
Hcharge of office- elevator door opens- Aunt Amanda and 
\Ethel on from elevator- father, lady and gent exit into 
JTelevator- boy closes door and elevator ascends- (light 
| worked behind door.) 

Cu/in- ETHEL AND HER AUNT AMANDA, WHO LIVE AT THE HOTEL. 

Ethel and Aunt are on their way to the dining room to 
dinner- Harry's face lights up at sight of Ethel- Aunt 
goes off towards dining room- motioning Ethel to stop at 
counter and see if there's any mail- Ethel asks Harry 
for mail- she smiles very coyly- Harry takes letter from 
box- when he hands it to her he catches hold of her hand 
across the counter- retains it- she makes a feeble 
attempt to escape- looks off to make sure Aunt Amanda 
has disappeared- turns and begins intimate conversation 
^ with Harry- the two heads get closer and closer. 

Scene, 3- DINING ROOM, HOTEL BORDEN (Well filled with patrons.) 
\ (Flash) Aunt Amanda seated at table, wondering what can 
■ be keeping Ethel- waiter comes for order- Aunt Amanda 
^says wait- she'll have to look for her niece- she rises 
Hand exits towards office impatiently. 

Scene 4- Back to 2 (HOTEL OFFICE). 

Ethel and Harry leaning over counter, gazing into each 
other's eyes- unconscious of everything but each other- 
Aunt Amanda on from dining room- shocked at Ethel- speaks 
and Ethel jumps-Aunt Amanda scolds (in dignified manner- 
not farce) and tells Ethel to go into the dining room- 
Ethel hands her letter and exits to dining room- Aunt 
looks haughty disapproval at Harry- he is respectful but 
not apologetic- tries to smooth the old lady- she turns 
her back and follows Ethel to the dining room (Other 
guests, bellboys, etc., pass, get into elevator, etc., 
during scene). 

Scene 5- DINING ROOM. 

( (Flash) Ethel and Aunt Amanda enter from office- Aunt 
Amanda warning Ethel not to have anything to do with 
"that crazy boy"- Ethel says he is fine young man, etc- 
waiter conks for order- hands menu cards to the ladies- 
they begin to look them over. 



Leader- JHE CHEF'S BUSY HOUR, 




176 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAyL | 

Scene 6- KITCHEN. 

Wild excitement- waiters, cooks, scullions, etc.^.dash 
about- waiters with trays filling orders for dining room- 
Peitro, the chef, bawling orders- waving spoon- little 
man (one of the cooks) rebels when Peitro tells hito his 
soup is awful, and orders him to put salt in it- cook 
attempts to argue with Pete- Pete takes him by the 'scruff 
of the neck and throws him off scene- turns and orders 
another man on the soup job (no one pays attention t ^| 
Pete's scrap with the ejected cook; it's an everyday^ 
occurrence, and besides all are too busy to notice others 
troubles). 

Leader- NEXT AFTERNOON- "WILL YOU TAKE A SPIN IN MY NEW CAR?'A 

Scene 7- HOTEL OFFICE (Camera close up). 

(Flash) Clerk sorting letters, Harry smiling and talking 
over phone (asks the above leader). 

Scene 8- SITTING ROOM IN SUITE OF ETHEL AND AUNT- (Glimpse of 
bedroom). 

(Flash) Ethel smiling and talking over phone to Harry- 
says she'll try to steal off somehow and meet him. 

Scene 9- HOTEL OFFICE. 

(Flash) Harry kisses Ethel via the phone. 

Scene 10- SITTING ROOM. 

Ethel sends Harry a phone kiss and hangs up quickly I 
she hears Aunt Amanda coming- Aunt on from bedroom- § 
dressed for street- says she is ready for walk- asW 
Ethel to accompany her- Ethel pleads headache and says 
she'd rather stay home and lie down- Aunt sympathizes 
wants to stay and tend to Ethel- Ethel says Aunt must n< 
deny herself her walk- she will feel better afterjaja 
little nap- Aunt goes out- Ethel quickly gets hat and 
coat, picks up phone to tell Harry she will be ready in a 
moment. 

Scene 11- EXTERIOR FRONT OF HOTEL. 

(Flash) Aunt Amanda on from hotel- attendant asks if she 
wants taxi- no, thanks, she'd rather walk- walks off up 
street. 



Leader- THE CHEF ALSO GOES FOR A WALK. 



Scene 12- KITCHEN. 

The fires are low- it is the dullest time of the day in 
the kitchen- only a servant or two in sight- they are 
cleaning and polishing up- Pete on- well dressed- cane i 
his hand- overcoat on arm- servant helps him on with 
overcoat- Pete scrutinizes work of cleaners- discovers 
part of range not polished properly- calls attention to 




$ 



COMPLETE ACTION 177 



it- servants make haste to polish- Pete gives a few 
directions and exits. 

Scene 13- EXTERIOR FRONT OF HOTEL. 

(Flash) Harry cranking his auto- Ethel on from hotel- 
greetings- they get into auto and drive off. 

Scene 14- PARK SCENE 1. 

9 (Flash) Aunt Amanda on- walks across scene. 

Scene 15- PARK SCENE 2. 

► (Flash) Harry and Ethel in auto driving at breakneck 
speed- people exclaim- park policeman runs on, shouting 
at them to stop- tries to see number- no use. 

' Scene 16- PARK SCENE 3. 

Aunt Amanda, slightly fatigued, sits on bench to rest- 
Harry and Ethel dash past in auto- Aunt Amanda starts to 
feet with exclamation- her pocketbook falls to ground- 
■L when she has calmed down she tries to pick it up- rather 
Tl difficult- Pete on, walking jauntily- sees Aunt Amanda 
trying to get pocketbook- comes gallantly to the rescue- 
he is so stout he has to get down on his knees for the 
H pocketbook, but he gets it and presents it with a flour- 
ish to Aunt Amanda- she thanks him graciously- he is 
I encouraged to linger and remark the fine weather- she is 
.\ captivated by his dash and courtly bearing- pleasant 
1 conversation begins. 

Leader- EACH IGNORANT OF THE OTHER'S IDENTITY. 

Scene 17- Same as 16 (PARK SCENE 3) 

P^Lint Amanda and Pete very good friends now- he pays her 
some compliment- she smiles coyly- Pete becomes real 
kittenish- Aunt Amanda asks the time- Pete flashes his 
heavy gold watch- four o'clock- Aunt Amanda must be 
going- won't Pete walk with her a little way?- 
delighted- he offers his arm- she takes it and they 
walk off. 

Scene 18- EXTERIOR FRONT OF HOTEL. 

Pete and Aunt Amanda on- he is surprised when he learns 
she lives at the hotel- won't he come into the parlor 
for a while?- Pete is afraid of being recognized by some 
of the employees- suddenly looks at watch and remembers 
an engagement- can't go in with her, but will she meet 
him in the park to-morrow?- same time and place?- she 
bashfully promises- exits into hotel- Pete off other way- 
Harry and Ethel dash up in auto- Harry helps Ethel to 
alight- ate is worried- whether Aunt has returned 
and found her headache story a fib- Harry tells her not 
to worry- he calls attendant- orders him to take his car 
to the garage- Harry and Ethel exit into hotel. 



17: 



TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 



Scene 19-. HOTEL OFFICES. 

Harry's father and clerk at counter- Aunt Amanda telling 
father about Harry's reckless driving- Harry and Ethel 
enter from street- Aunt Amanda scolds- the young folks 
defend themselves- Aunt Amanda declares she will leave I 
the hotel if Harry persists in attentions to her niece- 
she orders Ethel into elevator- follows her- Harry' si 
father begins to scold him. 

Scene 20- KITCHEN. 

(Short scene) Servants handling pots and pans in listl|fl 
fashion- Pete on with a rush- just putting on his white* 
cap and apron- waves his arms commandingly- seizes his l 
big spoon- servants galvanized into instant action- whenV 
all get busy- Pete's mind reverts to Aunt Amanda- he 
heaves a ponderous Italian sigh- but back to business 
immediately. 



Leader- NEXT AFTERNOON- 
SHOPPING. 



AUNT AMANDA SENDS ETHEL TO DO SOME 



;- just I 
aren't jc 



Scene 21- SITTING ROOM. 

Ethel dressed for street- Aunt at writing table- 
finished shopping list- hands it to Ethel- but 
coming, Auntie?- Auntie pleads headache- says she's 
going to lie down- Ethel says she'd better stay and t^ake 
care of her, but Aunt reassures her and says shoppinm.. 
is important- Ethel kisses Aunt and exits- Aunt Amanda 
immediately prepares to go out and meet Pete- acts kit- 
tenish when she thinks of the handsome gentleman. 



Scene 22- KITCHEN. 

(Flash) The dull hour again- Pete ready for his walk and 
his engagement with Aunt Amanda- he gives a few orders to 
a servant- pulls himself together and exits jauntily. 

Scene 23- PARK SCENE 3 (Same as 16-17). 

Aunt Amanda on- looks about expectantly- smiles coyly as 
she sees Pete coming- Pete on with flourish- they sit onJ 
bench- pleasant conversation. 

Leader- "I AM HERE ON A SECRET MISSION- PROMISE TO KEEP MY NAMBfi 
A SECRET." 

Scene 24- Same as 23 (PARK SCENE 3) 

Aunt Amanda asks Pete for his card- Pete contemplates- 
finally pulls out card case and with a flourish presents j 
his card- she looks at it. jr 

Insert* Card- PEITRO LANGORI f 

COUNT OF MONTIVIDIO / 



\ 



COMPLETE ACTION 179 

Aunt Amanda astonished- "A Count!"- Pete proudly admits 
that he is no less- Aunt Amanda very much impressed- 
[ 7 Pete assumes air of secrecy- she promises to keep the 
■§ secret- but has he really a castle?- Pete with weeping 
f gestures tells of his immense estate in sunny Italy- she 
I listens and drinks in his words worshipfully- he takes 
her hand and motions that when he returns to his 
$5,000,000 villa he'd like to take her with him as his 
j wife- Aunt Amanda is overwhelmed with the proposition- 
Peitro draws her head to his manly shoulder- she sighs 
contentedly, blissfully- so does Peitro. 

leader- HE BUYS A RING. 

iScene 25- EXTERIOR JEWELRY STORE (Camera close up). 

Pete enters from store- ring box in his hand- stops and 
takes out ring- looks at it lovingly- sighs soulfully- 
suddenly remembers it's near dinner time- looks at watch- 
walks off hurriedly. 

mne 26- KITCHEN. 

(Flash) Servants listless- Pete in street clothes comes in 
1 with a rush- shouts orders- waves cane- taking off over- 
coat as he does so- everybody jumps. 

Seine 27- SITTING ROOM. 

\ (Flash) Ethel dressed for dinner, talking to Harry over 
phone- looks towards bedroom nervously- afraid Aunt 
I Amanda will hear. 

Scene 28- HOTEL OFFICE (Camera close up). 

y^Flash) Harry talking mushy and phoning kisses to Ethel. 

Scene 29- (Back to 27) SITTING ROOM. 

¥Short scene) Ethel sending kisses to Harry over phone- 
%unt Amanda on from bedroom- hears Ethel at phone kissing 
Harry- speaks sharply- Ethel hastily hangs up- Aunt 
^scolds- tells her to come down to dinner- both exit. 

\, Scene '30- KITCHEN (Camera close up). 

Peitro has ring and case in his hand- he is folding note 
written on small piece of paper- smiles tenderly- puts 
ring in case- stuffs note in it and closes case (cooks 
and waiters running across background). 

\ Scene 31- DINING ROOM. 

(Flash) Ethel and Aunt at their table- ordering dessert. 

f Scene 32- KITCHEN. 

Pete holding ring box in hand- smiling- servants bustling 
about- waiter in with a rush, carrying tray full of 
dishes- collides with another servant- tray of dishes 
crashes to floor- Pete turns, throwing up his hands- the 









180 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 

ring box flies from his hand into a pot or pan on range 
(not important where it drops so long as it is in the 
direction of the range)- Pete holds up empty hands in 
consternation- looks on floor- everywhere. 

Cut in- THE RING IS LOST. 

But this is no time to look for anything, not even diamond 
rings- dinners must be served- he orders all back to \ 
work, but continues search himself. 

Scene 33- DINING ROOM. 

Ethel and Aunt almost finished dinner- waiter serving 
dessert (some kind of pudding)- Ethel's spoon strikes 
something strange- she digs it out of the pudding- "Why x 
what's this?"- she wipes off the object with her napkin- 
Aunt Amanda curious, too. 

Insert- Large picture, Ethel's hands open soiled ring box, J 
takes out ring and small crumpled note. / 

(Continue scene) Ethel and Aunt's heads bend curiously ft 
over ring- Ethel reads note- hands it to Aunt. 

Insert- NOTE- On crumpled piece of paper. 

FROM 
THE COUNT OF MONTIVIDIO 

TO / 

HIS DIVINE ONE. 

(Continue scene) Ethel, with ring and case in hand, ( 
decides to report the curious occurrence at the office- 
rises and exits- Aunt Amanda reading note for the second 
time- wonder in her eyes- tries to recall Ethel, but 
too late- rubs her eyes and reads again* 

Scene 34- HOTEL OFFICE. 

Harry and his father at the counter- some guests just 
leaving keys- exit- Ethel on with ring- explains- Harry 1 
and father astonished- then angry to think such a thingJ 
could happen in their kitchen- father tells Harry to go | 
down into the kitchen and find out about it- Harry goes* 
toward kitchen with ring- Aunt Amanda enters from dinii 
room- Ethel tells her to show note that came in ring 
box, but Aunt Amanda becomes confused- holds note tights 
and refuses to give it up- Ethel and Harry's father 
wonder. k 

Scene 35- KITCHEN. 

Pete still looking for the ring- Harry enters with ring 
in his hand- speaks- everybody stops work and looks at 
Harry- he holds ring and box in air- "Where did this 
come from?"- Pete with an exclamation grabs the ring- 
then realizes he has betrayed himself- Harry goes at him 



COMPLETE ACTION 1S1 

angrily- "What do you mean by trying to destroy our 
trade?" etc.- Pete apologetic, but Harry upbraids him 
until Pete feels insulted- retorts hotly- goes for Harry, 
waving spoon in his face- Harry retreats- Pete follows- 
J ihoth continue scolding until off scene- the servants 
t watch open-mouthed. 

Scene 36- HOTEL OFFICE. 

Ethel and Harry's father questioning Aunt Amanda about 
note which she refuses to show- she is confused- they 
hear Pete and Harry approaching- Harry backs on- Pete 
follows on, talking loudly and gesticulating- father 
rushes between them- tries to restore order- Harry tells 
Pete dropped ring in pudding- Pete tells Harry butted 
into his kitchen- Aunt Amanda has been watching Pete with 
bulging eyes- she now stands in front of him and looks 
into his face- both are petrified- Pete is just forcing a 

JjL sheepish smile when Aunt Amanda keels over in a dead 
\ faint- bellboys, guests, etc., have been attracted by 
•1 the excitement- Harry's father tells Pete he's fired- 
Pete is now all in- father leads him unresisting back 
towards kitchen- guests and attendants carry Aunt Amanda 
\ to elevetor- Ethel starts after them, but Harry pulls 
ber hack- elevator goes up- some people up-stairs talking 
it over. 

Leader- "NOW'S OUR CHANCE- LET'S ELOPE DURING THE EXCITEMENT!" 

Scene 37- Same as 36 (HOTEL OFFICE). 

^Guests dispersing- Harry says above Leader to Ethel- 
'Ijthel afraid- she must stay with her Aunt- but Harry asks 
.•Don't you love me?"- after some hesitation she consents 
Harry gets his overcoat from behind (or under) counter- 
takes his father's coat and wraps Ethel in it- they 
run out. 

[Scene 38- EXTERIOR FRONT OF HOTEL (NIGHT). 

(Flash) Couple of taxis standing- Harry helping Ethel 
into his auto- speed off. 

Reader NEXT DAY. 

Scene 39- SITTING ROOM. 

Aunt Amanda rocking her body ,to< and fro- moaning discon- 
solately- has Count of Montividio's crumpled note- oh, to 
think that he has betrayed her- the impostor- and where 
was Ethel?- everyone has gone back on her- oh! oh, oh. 

tcene 40- EXTERIOR FRONT OF HOTEL. 

Harry and Ethel dash up in auto (Ethel still wearing 
man's overcoat)- they are very happy- about to go into 
hotel when Ethel draws back- what will her Aunt and his 



182 TECHNIQUE OF THE PHOTOPLAY 



father say?- Harry is scared for a moment, but plucks up 
courage and leads Ethel through the door. 

Scene 41- HOTEL OFFICE. 

Father wondering where the devil his overcoat is and 
where Harry and Ethel are, etc.- Harry and Ethel on from 
street- very timid and doubtful- father starts and sur- 
veys them sternly- "Well, sir! give an account of your- 
self!"- Ethel hangs head- Harry says, drawing Ethel to 
him, 

Cut in- "WE'RE MARRIED." 

Father stern- doubtful- then he melts- wishes them joyjrc 
etc.- the next thing is Aunt Amanda- they ask the father, 
to come up to see Aunt Amanda with them- but oh, no, 
not for his- they can have that pleasure all alone- wel* : 
it has to be done- they enter the elevator and it goes J 
up- Pete enters,- dressed in his very best- he is very / 
proud- the father is surprised to see him- gets over me 
surprise and orders Pete out- he's a discharged chef-^ 
but Pete, with proud gesture, produces a letter, whiolf 
he hands father- father reads with increasing surpri sl- 
it has a peculiar effect on him- he looks up at Pete With 
a new expression- Pete says he wants to go upstairs add 1 
see Aunt Amanda- father hesitates just a moment- theiy 
conducts Pete to elevator- both go up in elevator. / 

Scene 42- SITTING ROOM. 

Harry and Ethel are pleading with Aunt Amanda to stop 
crying and forgive them- she is inconsolable for some 
reason- they don't understand- Harry hears a knock on the 
door- opens it- Pete and father enter- surprise- £ete 
touches Aunt Amanda on the shoulder and speaks- sWe 
starts up- then back- he holds his arms for her- she begins! 
to upbraid him- he produces the same letter that he 
showed to father- hands it to Aunt- she reads, and whilaJ 
she reads Pete produces documents with large seals- 
hands them around. 

Insert- LETTER. 



ihgori, i 



ITALIAN CONSULATE, 
Philadelphia. 
This is to certify that the bearer, Peitro Lahgori 
the real COUNT OF MONTIVIDIO. Owing to lack of funds, 
has been working as chef; but he will soon fall heir tol 
an estate worth over $1,000,000. 

(Signed) ANTONIO CARDUCCI, 

Italian Consufl 

(Continue scene) Aunt Amanda takes some time to realize 
that things have broken just right- but she is soon in 
the arms of the royal chef- she forgives everybody 



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